


Lethe

by AndromedaPrime



Series: Andromeda [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, Mech Preg, Mpreg, Sparklings, Sticky Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, unhealthy relationships for both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-05
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:57:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1600682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaPrime/pseuds/AndromedaPrime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one time he wished he could remember something, nothing was there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sparked

**Author's Note:**

> This particular story used to be known by the title _Amnesiac_.
> 
> The title of this fic, _Lethe_ , refers to the Greek spirit of forgetfulness; in Classic Greek the word literally means "oblivion" and "forgetfulness".

Overjoyed. Elated. Delighted. Ecstatic. Jubilant.

Ratchet would gladly spend the next million stellar cycles of his life writing down and conjuring up words that would come close to fully expressing how they felt at this moment. His spark, and the sparks of his fellow Autobots and the hearts of the humans he was safe to say, were leaping in joy as they all surrounded the revered leader and laughed.

The atmosphere was certainly different now that Optimus had regained his memories. His optics searched around the room, clearly glad to be back as well, and he gently humored the children.

“What was it like on the Decepticon ship?!” Miko shouted at the same time Raf asked, “How did it feel getting your memories back?”

Jack playfully smacked Miko on her upper arm. “If he doesn’t remember getting the Decepticon symbol on his shoulder he won’t remember being on the Decepticon ship.”

Optimus glanced down at the humans and a small smile graced his faceplates. “Sadly Miko, Jack is correct. I do not retain any memories of being aboard the _Nemesis_. And Rafael,” he shifted his gaze to look at the prepubescent boy with the Einstein hairdo, “receiving my memories once more was a feeling that I shall not soon forget.”

June clutched onto her son, still in the spacesuit, and looked up at the Prime with adoring eyes. “The world feels safer with you around, Optimus.” Fowler, next to her, couldn’t do anything more than grin up at the Cybertronian leader and nod his concurrence. Bumblebee whirred and beeped gaily, dancing lithely on the tips of his pedes with his doorwings flying everywhere. Bulkhead couldn’t stop his smiling, and Arcee was giddily bouncing up and down, knees bending and flexing but feet never leaving the floor.

Ratchet kept his servo on his commander’s arm. Optimus looked at him, and both exchanged a smile.

.-.-.

The moment the entrance shut after Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Arcee, and the humans, Ratchet drew Optimus towards him with a feral growl and smashed their lipplates together. The Prime moaned into the heated kiss and both stumbled towards the berthrooms. He felt around with his arms, looking for the entrance to his quarters. He found it and hurriedly turned away from the medic, fingers scraping over the keys as he punched in the security code, pulling Ratchet into the tiny waiting area as the doors secured behind them.

“H-how long do we,” Optimus panted as he stole another kiss, “have before they re-return?”

Ratchet pinned his Prime to the floor and then changed his tone, going from possessive to tender as he leaned in and placed another peck on the Prime’s lipplates, stroking his cheekplate, and murmuring, “Enough time.”

The Prime’s engine gave a loud rev as the medic began kissing his way down the Prime’s lithe body, suckling on the Autobot Commander’s lower lip before trekking downwards, mouthing the seam where his chassis plates parted and stopping at his lower abdominal plating, raining kisses around. The semi moaned and squirmed as the ambulance continued his trek downward, towards the valve cover that snapped open when he reached it. Ratchet took no time in placing his faceplate directly next to Optimus’s valve and worming his glossa in between the soft, pliable metal folds, scraping at the walls coated with lubricant.

Optimus jerked, slapping his servos over his mouth as he let out a yelp, and thrashed his legs. It had been too long. Ratchet calmly lifted his servos and clamped them on the strong silver thighs, holding them down as he continued his oral assault on the Autobot leader’s valve, relishing the pleasured, muffled gasps and moans the larger mech was emitting. It was fairly obvious that he was close to overloading. The medic ceased, drawing his glossa out with lubricant coating it and his lipplates. Optimus huffed impatiently, having come down from his high, and glared at the medic as if to say, “Get on with it!”

“Two months Optimus…two months…”

The Prime’s intense stare softened, and he only moved his optics, watching as Ratchet crawled his way back up to him so they were faceplate to faceplate. Optimus tasted himself when his smaller, dominant partner brought their lips together.

“Our darkest hour is no more,” Ratchet murmured even as his lower lip was bitten down on. “You’re back. You’re safe.”

Optimus trailed his lips over the part of Ratchet’s helm armor that made up his nose, replying, “I’m here Ratchet. I won’t leave again. Not without a fight.”

“Heh. I just hope it’s none of us that you’re fighting.” Ratchet unlatched his codpiece, letting his spike free. Optimus looked at it and felt his valve clench eagerly. Ratchet shifted himself again so he was lined up with the Autobot Commander’s valve, and gently pushed his way in, careful not to harm his larger mech and lover. Optimus quivered, sighing and gasping and wrapping his legs around the smaller mech’s thick waist, the back of his helm hitting the floor as the medic pounded feverently into him, intending to make up for lost time.

Overload hit them both and Ratchet collapsed on top of the red and blue mech, both their intakes heaving, spike still nestled in the Prime’s valve. The medic nuzzled his helm into the Prime’s chassis, murmuring, “I don’t want to lose you Optimus. I need you. We need you.”

“Ratchet,” Optimus began, but was cut off by the medic whispering, “It was the Pit without you, Optimus. We didn’t know what to do without your guidance. We thought we would never see you again. We feared that the next time we would see you your spark would have been corrupted to Megatron’s evil ways.”

“I-”

“I didn’t know if I could keep us together, we don’t know where everyone else is and we’re the only Autobots stationed in this part of the galaxy-”

“Ratchet,” Optimus said, softly but with a tone of finality. The medic looked up from his rambling and stared deep into those beautiful blue optics. The realization as to how close they had been to never seeing each other like this again hit him. With a sigh, the Prime lifted a servo and stroked his lover’s forehelm chevron. “I’m back. That is all that matters right now. I am back and in one piece.”

The medic gently stroked a blue finial, savoring the small quiver it earned him from the larger mech. “I just wish we had some way of knowing what they did to you up there.”

“I wish so as well, old friend,” Optimus sighed. The sound of chassis plates shifting then echoed in the Prime’s quarters, and Ratchet was instantly bathed in pure, vivid blue light. He made an awkward noise as he reeled back from the sudden gesture. Optimus looked at him, optics pleading.

“Optimus, I just…we just…I don’t wish to spark you knowing that Megatron is still out there-”

“Please, Ratchet,” the Prime pleaded, optics desperate. “I need this. If anything happens, we will deal with it accordingly but for once,” he reached a servo out to his friend and lover, “just grant me this.”

 _You’ll certainly spark him up if you merge_ , that little voice in the back of his processor warned him. The idea of a little one running around the base had always warmed his spark, but during this time? No. He wasn’t about to do that to his Prime. He wasn’t about to give him another life to fret over when he already had the weight of the universe on his shoulders.

On his way back over to Optimus, however, the medic noticed something that clearly put all thoughts of him sparking the Autobot leader out of his processor. He stared directly at the vivid blue spark. Watching it twist and flare, he caught sight of the extended, white aura that surrounded Optimus’s spark. An aura that only presented itself when…

“Optimus, you’re already sparked.”


	2. Five

He really could not believe his level of luck.

After having spent two Earth months away from his team and having fought Megatron upon regaining his memories, all that Optimus had wanted was to have a nice, long fragging session with his medic/lover. Wanted to feel Ratchet in between his legs, taking him at alternating paces of soft/slow and hard/fast, wanted to twine their digits together as they reached overload multiple times, wanted to wake up curled next to the smaller frame of the medic.

Optimus shifted on the hard medical berth, irritated with all the wires stretching in various directions that had ends stuck under his armor to his protoform and with the loud noises and beeping the machines were making. It was taking all his willpower to not yank out the annoying lines. He lifted his helm off the berth, narrowing his optics at the other mech that was standing in front of the monitors connected to all these machines.

“Don’t. Stop moving,” was the only thing Ratchet said as he narrowed his optics, focusing in on whatever results were pending.

The Prime’s helm fell back to the berth, and he let out a frustrated huff as he stared up at the ceiling.

Ratchet’s sigh brought him back to attention. The medic crossed his right servo over his chassis and cradled his helm in his left one. Without looking at the red and blue mech, the medic drew air into his intakes and murmured, “Dear Primus, why?”

“Old friend,” the semi approached hesitantly, his previous mood of irritation evaporated and replaced with anxiousness. “Is there any possibility that your equipment may be faulty?”

“Optimus, your spark is currently encircled by a white aura. The only explanation for that occurrence is that you’ve been sparked.” The medic then grasped the edge of the monitor and turned it around so the Prime was able to see exactly what he was talking about. When his optics and processor finally registered what was on the LCD, his spark almost stopped.

There, seen in grayscale, the dark space of his reproductive chamber was housing a pulsing, brilliantly-shining spark. The light it emitted also highlighted the barely-formed protoform. The helm, the body, the limbs…Primus, he could even count the little fingers on each servo. Five. And five.

Oh, Creator Primus, why? Why, why, why?

His shock only worsened further as he caught sight of the…the sparkling move a servo, flexing its digits and curling its hand towards its body. He caught sight of a cluster of tubes and wires glinting with the movement that led to the sparkling’s midsection.

Ratchet appeared in his line of vision, removing most of the wires and detaching some of the Prime’s abdominal armor, prodding and putting pressure on Optimus’s midsection. Specifically, the protoform layer that covered his gestation chamber. The medic frowned and blinked down at his servos on his commander’s abdomen. “The reproductive chamber has completely hardened its surface, adding further protection to the unborn sparkling in cases of falls, hits, and blows.”

The questions of how and why and who ran through Optimus’s processor. How could this have happened? Why did this happen? Who did this to him? The first question out of his mouth, however, was not one of those three. Optics on the monitor, the sparkling shying away from the prodding the medic was doing, the semi asked in a quiet voice, “How far along is it?”

“Four Earth weeks. That would coincide with your last heat cycle, Optimus. And it would also explain why you couldn’t have known about this.” Ratchet removed the last wire from its place on Optimus’s abdomen, rendering the image on the screen completely still so it was stuck on an image of the sparkling arching its neck. The Autobot Commander’s optics fixated on the grayscale image of the sparkling as his audios heard the medic continue, “Much like human females, in the first third of our carrying cycles carrying mechs and femmes suffer from near-debilitating nausea, cramps, and severe bodily aches as the frame adjusts to the added weight of a new life. By the fourth and fifth weeks the discomfort has lessened considerably. At this rate, if you didn’t know you were carrying the only sign would be light movements in your lower abdomen, akin to fluttering.”

Fluttering. When he regained his memories of being Prime and delivered that first knock-out punch to the Decepticon leader, he felt that. But in the heat of battle, where his head and spark were on the cutting line, he thought nothing of the sensation of light tickling in his lower midsection.

Nothing was said for a few minutes as Ratchet put the armor back in its placed and stored away his equipment, a far away look in his optics. He left the image of the sparkling on the screen for last, finally shutting the monitor off and taking with it the only picture of the unborn Cybertronian that he had seen so far. Optimus raised his optics to the ceiling again. Empty.

“Why does the spark take on a snowy aura when one is sparked?”

“Spark merges during carrying are very dangerous,” Ratchet said as he helped the larger mech off of the berth. “The overloading of one carrier doesn’t cause any damage, but merging the sparks and the combined power of both parents overloading their sparks sends out enough energy that could more often than not completely fry the undeveloped and sensitive wiring in the developing sparkling. The white aura comes into existence at the moment of conception and stays until the sparkling’s emergence from the carrier, its purpose to warn the other creator not to combine their life forces.” The ambulance took the semi’s dark grey servo into his silver one, looking up into his optics. “Thank Primus I spotted the shield,” his voice quavered. “I would not have been able to live with myself if I caused the death of an unborn…especially an unborn sparkling of a Prime.”

Optimus raised his free servo to his midsection, tentatively placing his hand on the armor protecting his gestation chamber and sparkling. “And is there any possible way to deduce who the other creator might be?” he asked quietly as they exited the medbay, heading for his quarters.

Once they reached the door, Ratchet typed in the passcode and, as the door slid open, replied, “It’s safe to deduce that the sire of your unborn sparkling is a Decepticon. Just which Decepticon exactly is the question.” He gently pushed the Prime into the waiting area of the quarters and trailed off topic, saying, “Rest now. I’ll bring you some energon with additives when you wake up, and I’ll need to do another exam on you and the sparkling.”

“Wait, Ratchet,” Optimus said, placing his servo on the side of the entryway, preventing the doors from sliding closed. “Are you going to let the others know?”

“Either I will or you will. Depends on your choice. Rest. Now.”

Normally Ratchet would stay the night with him, keep him company, and not leave until he was sure that Optimus had drifted off to a fitful recharge, but he was too exhausted from the developments of the past Earth hour to think much of the primarily white and red mech walking away from him. He collapsed on his berth, servos curled against his midsection.


	3. Examination

What a turn of events that had been.

Ratchet folded his arms behind him and cradled the back of his helm in his servos, looking up at the ceiling of his own quarters. He’d stared at the same rocky formations in the ceilings each night he couldn’t get to recharge for the past two months, which had been quite a lot of nights. A big part of him had hoped that he’d get a break from the routine, and get to slip into a fitful recharge with his lover. But after this big discovery…he… _they_ needed time to process.

A sparkling.

It had been eons, of course, since the last sparkling was born. He remembered helping the mech and femme in an underground bunker at Praxus. The two mates had both gotten hit with Decepticon laser fire. The femme was quick to recover and spring to her feet but the mech, the larger one of the two and also the carrier, had been hit multiple times. The laser fire pierced his gestation chamber. Ratchet, First Aid, and Red Alert worked quickly to save the two sparklings. Sadly, only one of the twin mechlings left the carrier’s body online, shrieking as he was prematurely ripped from his mother.

The medic sighed and closed his optics to the outside world, focusing in on his own thoughts. There was really not much to ponder about. His only question at the moment was the identity of the Decepticon that had fathered the sparkling growing quite nicely inside Optimus’s abdomen.

He had an idea. An idea that had suddenly flashed into his mind and made his intakes hitch and his optics widen.

But he hoped to Primus that he would be proven wrong.

.-.-.

His recharge cycle was uncomfortable to say the least. Optimus tossed and turned on the hard surface of his berth, his processor plagued by fleeting images of screaming sparklings, the destruction of the war, and himself in a fluffy pink apron brandishing a large metal spoon and chasing after a fleet of baby seekerlets.

That last one made no sense in any way of the universe.

The Prime reached out and curled his servos around the edge of the metal berth before forcing his optics to open against the sudden harsh light that penetrated through his optical coverings. He moaned and placed a servo against his optics, shielding them from the brightness as he looked towards the movement to his left and mumbled in irritation, “Could you attempt to reach me via communications link next time Ratchet?”

“I did.” The emergency vehicle was immediately standing at the side of the berth, a cube of rosy liquid gripped in his right servo as he splayed his left one on the Prime’s forehelm, activating the sensors at the finger tips to take his temperature and vitals. “Obviously the events of yesterday took their toll on you. I tried to ping you to wake up,” he retracted his servo, satisfied that the semi was fine, and handed the cube to Optimus. “You were much too…what’s the term the humans use? Knocked up?”

Optimus chose that moment to drink the curiously colored liquid. He trusted the medic to know that it was energon enriched with additives for his growing sparkling, probably a bit more than would usually be given to a carrier since he’d been supplementing his child with the low-grade sludge the Decepticons had aboard the _Nemesis._ The taste of additive-enriched energon, however, made low-grade seem like the finest high-grade Cybertron could offer. Optimus choked on the liquid, gagging and sputtering it out. Ratchet was quick to hold the Prime to his chassis and slap him on the back strut to help him clear his intakes. After much throat-clearing, Optimus leaned away from the ambulance and held his servo to his throat, coughing before saying, “The term is knocked out, but knocked up also applies to my situation unfortunately.”

Ratchet did a brief query on the World Wide Web, then grimaced when he learned the definition and differences of the two. “I apologize Optimus…”

“No need, Ratchet,” Optimus replied as he struggled to down the rest of the additive-enriched liquid. The taste was still highly unpleasant, but he forced himself to drink the rest of the energon for the sake of his sparkling. It was cold, and it burned a trail down his mouth and into his digestive tanks. His heightened senses let him know the sparkling was waking up from recharge and drawing the much needed additives and nutrients from the mix to form its body. The details of what was going on inside his own body was enough to scare him.

Ratchet tapped on his servo and took the empty cube from the Prime as he said, “Come on. Examination time.”

Optimus heard the other three Autobots in the main room guzzling down their morning rations of energon as he and Ratchet walked from his quarters further into the base towards the med bay. He briefly envied them, that they didn’t have to force down a foul-tasting mix and could have the sweet-tasting liquid. There was still a bad aftertaste in his mouth.

The medic wordlessly pointed to the med berth. It was the second time in less than 12 Earth hours that he’d be on this berth, the second time getting an exam. The second time enduring an awkward silence interposed only by the beeps and whining of the machines.

“Ah, don’t lie down,” Ratchet said once he noticed Optimus about to position himself horizontally. “Sit up.” He twisted the monitors on their stands so that Optimus could see the images on the screens as he was sitting. The medic powered them on and attached the wires to certain points on the Prime’s body, namely his forehelm, the sides of his helm, the back of his right servo (which was currently positioned to hover over his abdomen, his carrier instincts onlining to protect his child) and on the wrist of his left servo. Instead of attaching some more to the Prime’s midsection, Ratchet activated the scanner on his servo and pulled a small device from his subspace that he positioned just below the scanner. It was a dark greyish color, small, and cylindrical, wider than it was tall with a small black stripe encircling the sides.

“What is that, Ratchet?” Optimus asked before he could help himself, watching and flinching slightly as the medic triggered the tiny device by pressing it into itself and placing the palm of his servo to hover slightly over his midsection. He almost swatted the invasive servo away but then managed to calm himself down. This was Ratchet, his closest friend.

“It’s a DPWED. Dual-Piece Wireless Examination Device.” The medic pointed to a similar looking device that was stuck to the side of the biggest monitor. A small red light was blinking at the very top center. “This device on my wrist and its counterpart over there are currently communicating with each other to provide a clear, concise picture in real time of your sparkling, from my wrist,” he indicated the blinking red light on his wrist and the blinking red light at the monitor, “to the monitor.”

Optimus watched in amazement as he was given the first, completely clear image of his sparkling. The infant had fallen back into a fitfull recharge, but his or her fingers were twitching and curling towards its chassis. He could see the bright, brilliantly pulsating spark. The Prime slowly brought his arm down and let it rest at his side, sitting back and watching Ratchet perform a thorough scan on his unborn child.

“Hmm…” the ambulance’s lips thinned and his optics narrowed slightly as he nodded his helm up and down once. “Good…good vitals…ahh!”

“Is something wrong?” Optimus asked hesitantly, not entirely sure if he wanted to know the answer to that particular question.

“Nothing’s wrong. Matter of fact, Optimus, I’m rather surprised that the sparkling has come along this nicely without the assistance of additives. Most sparklings would be developmentally delayed at this point.” Though the medic’s voice and smile were pleasant and chipper, Optimus knew by looking into his optics that the happy emotions didn’t quite reach them. Shaking it off and leaving it up to discussion for another time, the Autobot Commander turned his glance back to the monitor in time to see the sparkling thrash a leg. The cluster of tubes and wires that he had seen yesterday that led to the midsection was now in clear view. “And that’s-”

“That’s the umbilicus. From where it siphons the nutrients it needs from your body to construct and strengthen his or her own.”

Silence fell over both the mechs as the ambulance proceeded with the examination. Once he was done and after he’d pronounced Optimus fit for patrol duty up until the week before the birth, he shut the monitors and the DPWEDs off and removed the wires from Optimus’s frame. He broke the silence by clearing his throat. The Prime knew he wanted to ask a question, but was second-guessing whether he should or not.

“Go ahead, Ratchet.”

The white and orange bot feigned a look of innocence, casting it towards the Prime before busying himself with putting the DPWEDs back in his subspace. “Go ahead what, Optimus?”

“You cannot fool me Ratchet. What do you wish to ask me?” Optimus asked as he slid off the berth and placed his right arm over his midsection again.

The medic looked heavenward and sighed, closing his optics. It would really be no use. “I could ask you this question again and again for the next million solar cycles, Optimus, long after your child has grown and mated and had sparklings of their own, but I doubt you’d be able to answer it. You really don’t remember anything?”

Ratchet turned his entire frame this time to look at the red and blue semi. Optimus stared at him blankly, blinking his optics once. He could almost see the Autobot Commander’s processor working at full speed. Taking a small step forward, the medic softened his voice. “A touch, a servo holding your own, a face? Nothing?”

After a full minute of silence, Optimus Prime finally hung his helm and tightened the grip of his right arm around his midsection. Slowly, he shook his helm once in the negative. The one time he wished he could remember something, nothing was there.

“Nothing? Not even the shape of an optic?”

“I’m sorry, old friend. I can’t recall a single moment from my time on the _Nemesis._ I wish I could be of more help.” Optimus then lifted his left servo and placed it directly under his arm.

Ratchet sighed in frustration and covered the Prime’s servo with his own, thumbing the back of the dark grey hand with his moon-silver one. “It’s fine, Optimus. We’ll figure it out when the time comes.” He quickly changed the subject, saying, “The others are still here in the base. Do you want to let them know?”

Optimus nodded and quietly followed Ratchet out of the med bay. The Prime did have an inkling of who. But he hoped to Primus and the Matrix that he would be proven wrong.


	4. Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **May 2014** : Please bear in mind that this entire fanfiction was written two years ago; my writing abilities have improved drastically since then. My explanation for Cybertronian reproduction, etc., is very bungled; if anyone is still left wondering about what I was trying to get across, please leave a comment so I may try to clear up any confusion.

Optimus had to keep reminding himself to keep his servos off of his midsection as they walked towards the monitor/main room. The urge to do so was there, insistently pinging him, but he kept his servos to his sides. He hoped that the other three wouldn’t pick up on the twitching motions. He was grateful when, before they rounded the corner and came into full-view of the younger Cybertronians, Ratchet stopped and took both his servos in his own, gently rubbing his thumbs over the back of the Prime’s metacarpals. Silence fell between them for a few moments before the medic spoke to the larger mech over a private comm. link ::You’ll be fine Optimus. And if they articulate anything you don’t agree with, I’ll gladly reformat them into trash compactors at my earliest convenience::

::Thank you, old friend:: Optimus couldn’t help but grin softly ::But I am hoping that it will not be necessary::

::It better not be:: Ratchet said as he took those final three steps to come into view of the main room. ::I don’t want to see you blubbering on the floor::

::Did I miss something?::

::More like I forgot to mention that the sparkling will be messing up your ability to keep your emotions in check. Once had a femme enter a fit of hysteria upon learning that her sparkling was not the femme she’d desired, but a mech::

 _Oh Primus_ , was all that went through Optimus’s processor before he stepped into full view of the monitor room. What his optics encountered was not what he had hoped for.

Explaining his current condition would be quick and hassle-free were it just Arcee, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee sitting around and refueling with non-tainted energon (he still envied them and planned on obtaining a cube for himself to wash away the unpleasant aftertaste still present in his oral cavity). They were, after all, Cybertronians and should know a thing or two about how their species reproduced.

To inform the Autobots with their three human charges present, however, was another story in its entirety.

Ratchet and Optimus stalled and stared with expressionless optics at the girl and two boys currently having a blast as they entertained themselves with a game that involved Miko nearly breaking a guitar in half with the powerful grip she exerted onto it, Jack looking absolutely confused as he tried to bang on the drums in sync with the notes scrolling by on the television screen, and Raf on the verge of tears as he failed to keep up with the notes for his own guitar. Though the microphone was cast aside and unplugged, Miko still insisted on screeching along to the song, giving into her primal instincts to show off as she dipped to the floor and shrieked, _“Clock is ticking while I'm stealing time/Can't you turn it back?/Stop the cycle, set it free, run away! Silent sneaking along my path, rugged the road/But we feel it like we're flying!”_

Bulkhead was the only one who didn’t seem to mind the off-key notes emanating from the girl’s vocal cords. Arcee’s shoulders were hunched as if to provide herself with some barrier against the loud music, and Bumblebee had his servos clamped over his audio sensors. Ratchet turned towards his Prime and saw Optimus had his helm turned away from the offending music, a grimace on his faceplates. If the music was pretty loud for the others, it was obviously worse for the carrying mech.

::Ratchet, should I still go through with it?::

::Let me try to get the children away from here. I thought they had school::

::If I remember correctly old friend, they are on break for a holiday::

::Gah! No chance of getting rid of them then…it’s all up to you now::

::Are you willing to give the children a lesson on how we reproduce?::

::No:: Ratchet snorted over the communications link but did an excellent job of not repeating the same action externally. ::But there is no way we could conceal your condition for longer, much less hide a sparkling. It’d be better to get this over with sooner than later I would say::

The medic was right. When Miko whooped in triumph over a high score, he seized the moment and said, “Autobots, children.”

Arcee took a slow sip from her cube of glowing blue energon before blinking up at the red and blue mech. “What’s up, Optimus?”

Now everyone in the room was looking directly at the Prime. Jack, who was closest to the TV, quietly and quickly reached an arm out and poked the power button on the electronic device to shut it off. Silence fell over the entire room as Optimus struggled to control the many millions of thoughts racing through his processor. He was conflicted, thinking of how to say it, whether or not to even go through with it. His sparkbeats sounded in his audios, and he became hypersensitive to the sparkling lazily moving within him.

“I am going to…make this as short as I possibly can.” He folded his arms over his broad chassis and looked at the three human children who were in turn looking up at him with bright eyes. “I am going to apologize to you three in advance. I am aware of how your species reproduces, and you will learn, today, another example in how different and yet similar we are to you.”

“Wha-” Raf and Miko asked in unison, but were cut off when Optimus quickly turned to the three Autobots regarding him with optics full of uncertainty. He wasted no time in looking the three of them square in the optics as he spoke. “Autobots, we will have another addition to our faction very soon. I am sparked.”

Silence fell again after his announcement. Out of his peripheral vision the Prime could see the three humans look at each other with looks of curiosity.

Then Bumblebee beeped in happiness, waving his cube of energon in the air and dancing a little jig. Arcee couldn’t help but squeal at the thought of a little one running around the base. Bulkhead stepped forward and slapped the silent medic on the back, startling Ratchet from his thoughts as he said, “Nice job doc! You sure work fast!”

It took two seconds for the meaning behind the Wrecker’s comment to register in his processor, but when they did the medic and Prime both exchanged panicked looks as Ratchet said, “The sparkling is not mine, Bulkhead.”

“But, I thought you two were…” Arcee interjected, waving her cube of liquid between the two elder mechs on the team. “You know…had been messing around for the last few millennia.”

“We-we have, but-”

The children chose that moment to chime in, Miko shouting, “What does sparked mean?!”, Jack saying, “Messing around like what?”, and Raf asking “Who works fast?!” all within milliseconds of each other.

“I woulda thought you two would finally try to for a sparkling,” Arcee calmly conveyed before she swigged down the last of her energon.

“What’s a sparkling?” Raf asked as he stood on his tip-toes and tried to reach over the railing, as if to boom his voice around.

Ratchet sighed and pinched his nasal plates between his right thumb and forefinger. Optimus decided to save the medic some face and looked at the green Wrecker. “Bulkhead, though I wish very much that this sparkling was sired by Ratchet, I am afraid that is not the case.”

Bumblebee cocked an optic ridge and beeped quizzically.

“The sparkling is four Earth weeks in development. Ratchet is not the Sire. The only possible explanation is that my sparkling’s Sire is a Decepticon.”

“And Rafael, Miko, Jack,” Ratchet finally spoke as he turned to look at the perplexed adolescents. “To clarify what you have been hearing, Optimus is, in your terms, pregnant.”

The only thing the Autobots found odd in that statement was the use of that human term to simplify their conversation for the children. The word itself was very uncomfortable to use, like you were attempting to speak with rocks in your throat. However, the three kids found all sorts of wrong and oddity in that sentence.

“B-bu-but…what?” The looks on both Jack’s and Raf’s faces were priceless enough, but Miko looked wide-eyed at the tall, red and blue leader of the Autobots and shrieked at the top of her windpipe, “OPTIMUS YOU’RE A GIRL?!!!”

Optimus looked like he’d been struck in the face with Megatron’s fusion cannon. Ratchet came to his aid, shouting, “No, Miko! Optimus is not a “girl” in your terms! He is a mech.”

“I would think that Arcee could get pregnant, but not a guy robot like Optimus,” Jack wondered outloud, earning him a distasteful glare from the motorcycle.

“In that sense,” Optimus began hesitantly, having recovered slightly from Miko’s completely wild and completely false assumption, “that is what I had been referring to when I stated that both our species’ are both vastly different and very similar to each other at the same time. Your species only reproduces because one gender, females like Miko

Miko blushed and looked down at her ultra-high-top Converse shoes as the red rose in her face.

“-are the only ones equipped to carry young. And we come about reproducing almost similarly.”

“Whereas with our species,” Ratchet’s voice was tired, almost monotonous as if he had given this same speech before many times, “we do have two primary gender-types, mech and femme. Mechs usually exhibit traits that are considered “masculine” by your species, and femmes usually exhibit “feminine” traits. Mechs are those with blue sparks, while femmes, much rarer in the population, have sparks the color of gold. Femmes are rare because they occur in about one out of every thirteen newspark births. With our species, all bots, regardless of gender, are capable of carrying young to term. Mech and femme, femme and femme, mech and mech, any and every pair can bring forth a new life.”

“So…how? Just how?” Jack asked into the brief silence that followed.

“If you three reacted in that way,” Arcee crossed her arms over her chassis and cocked an optic ridge at the humans, “are you absolutely sure you want the specifics?”

Jack and Raf exchanged glances of uncertainty, but the ever-bright Miko overcame her embarrassment, eagerly waved a hand in the air, jumping up and down on the balls of her feet and shouting, “I do!”

“Well, if you insist,” Ratchet shrugged his shoulders. “Where humans are concerned, and I’m sure you three should know this by now, only one male and one female can conceive young by means of copulation during the female’s ovulation cycle. A single sperm cell from the male and the egg from the female join up, divide, implants itself on the female’s uterine wall and-”

“We know, Ratch, baby comes nine months later.”

“Okay, so you do know,” Ratchet narrowed his blue optics at the taller boy. “With Cybertronians, we are all equipped similarly down there.”

“Down there? Like…” Miko gesticulated ever so quickly to the apex of her thighs and towards Jack and Raf’s own bottom halves.

“Yes. Like that.”

“Gross,” Raf shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself and sitting on the concrete floor.

“To you, maybe, to us it is the only way we have known. As I was saying, all Cybertronians have the equivalent of human genitalia. Our genitalia that mimics the human male genitals is known as a spike. Our genitalia that is so similar to the female genitalia is referred to as a valve. And, to go with the fact that we are all capable of carrying young, connected to our valves is a gestation chamber that houses our unborn in their stages of development before they leave our bodies. Akin to the female uterus.”

“So,” Miko interrupted the first chance she got, “does that mean that Optimus will get all big and round like girls do?”

The Autobots had come across carrying human females before. The only reason a Cybertronian’s abdomen would distended even slightly was because the carrier was of smaller stature than the sire. On Cybertron it was highly recommended by all physicians (but not mandatory) that the carrier of a couple’s sparklings be the larger mech. They were nothing short of horrified to find out that that was certainly not the case on Earth. All human females that decided to carry would see their midsections distend so much.

“Well…” Ratchet turned to meet Optimus’s optics. The Prime finally gave into the subconscious pings and rested a servo over his midsection. The three children followed the movement as they listened to the medic continue, “We normally do not show our carrying. It is not unheard of, however. It all depends on the bots involved.

“And as far as conception is concerned it is far more complex than yours. Yours only requires a sperm cell and an egg. Ours,” he looked around at the Autobots who were listening intently as well, “requires use of our sparks, one bot’s transfluid, and the other bot’s heat cycle.

“Whichever Cybertronian has decided to proceed with the carriage has to be in their heat cycle. Three days out of each month, as you would call it, when they have their best chance to conceive. Those three days usually fall on the date the bot was sparked into existence, and the day before and the day after it. Example, I was sparked into existence, in your years,” Ratchet looked skyward as he mentally calculated the years, “…July 25, the year 3,894,005,972 BC.”

“Whoa, you’re that old?!” Miko exclaimed in wonderment, Jack and Raf looking astonished as well.

“Simply put, Cybertronians can live for eternity as long as we have an adequate supply of energon to drink from. And even then, were I to completely stop ingesting energon this moment and barring any external wounds that would bleed out, ten more millennia would pass by before I cease to function from lack of fluids.

“That said, July 25 is my conception date. My heat cycle for every Earth month runs from the 24-26. Now, the bot who is to become sparked, or pregnant in your terms, has to be spiked by the other Cybertronian. Once overload has been reached, the bot spiking the other will release a very generous amount of transfluid into the receiving bot’s gestation chamber, where it mixes with the genetic codes in the fluid inside said chamber. Once that is achieved, both bots have only a small time frame – half an Earth hour – to merge their spark fields and achieve mutual overload once more before the coding in the transfluid is rendered inert. The power from both Cybertronian’s mutual overloads shoots into the receptive mech or femme’s gestation chamber and ignites a spark into existence. Over the coming nine weeks required for gestation, the sparkling begins drawing components and nutritives from the carrier and the surrounding fluid to build its frame.

“And (here is another way we are similar) when it is time for birth, the carrier’s body begins experiencing spasms, like contractions, that force the sparkling out the gestation chamber, into the birthing channel, and out the valve.”

“Oh my God, so Optimus is going to-”

Raf ran forward and tackled Miko to the ground while Jack slapped a hand over her mouth. The girl kicked and struggled against the two boys, but still continued in a muffled voice, “hab babe lie gur oood!”

Optimus’s processor had been half on Ratchet’s lecture, and half on the sparkling whirling around and dancing in his gestation chamber. He or she was still small enough that they had freedom of movement. He turned his helm away slightly, not facing the others, and smiled to himself.

“And trust me you three, there is much much more to this.”

“Can-”

“So doc,” Bulkhead interrupted his charge, much to her annoyance. “A…a Decepticon?”

“Four Earth weeks along Bulkhead,” Ratchet absentmindedly waved a servo at the Prime’s midsection. “We were without him for two months. It’s not very hard to draw two and two together, as the humans would say.”

“But do you know who it might be?” Arcee asked tersely, obviously not as elated as she had been earlier upon Optimus’s first announcement. “Megatron, Starscream, that Knockout or Breakdown guy? Even Soundwave?”

“All are suspects and all are equally capable of siring sparklings.” Ratchet placed a silver servo over the Prime’s abdomen. The Prime felt his carrier protocols flare into life and he had to put up a fight to not swat the invading servo away. “We will not know for sure until the sparkling has been born.”

Optimus felt the world momentarily melt away around him, finding himself staring up at a dark silhouette. It was shapeless and bore no more features. He cursed his memory banks and his processor for what seemed like the fiftieth time in the last twelve hours for failing him. 


	5. Heir

“Do you believe they took it well?” the larger mech inquired in undertone as he and the smaller mech made their way back to his quarters. The sounds of gameplay and Bumblebee’s chirps and beeps faded as they wove their way into the deeper recesses of the base. He still had his servo over his midsection. Ratchet discerned the Prime’s servo’s highly awkward position as he replied in an equally quiet voice, “It seems as if they did, but judging from the way Arcee’s and Bulkhead’s electromagnetic fields flared when we informed them of the anonymous sire’s factional loyalties, they may not be as ecstatic at the thought of having a little one around the base as Bumblebee is.”

“I believe Bumblebee would be ecstatic in any case,” Optimus replied, a soft smile gracing his normally stoic faceplates. “He has been the youngest of all the Autobots for these many eons, and he may be elated at the prospect there being another younger than him.”

The medic hadn’t considered that case, and found it hard to restrain the grin that appeared on his own faceplates. “I suppose that would explain why he still retained his youngling-like cheeriness in the face of all this. He’ll think of himself as a sort of big brother to your sparkling.”

Their conversation came to a stall as both mechs reached the sliding doors to the Autobot leader’s berth room. Optimus removed the servo from his abdominal plating, tapping the passcode into the keypad to allow access, and placed his servo back in its original position when the silver doors slid open with a loud _whoosh!_

“Now make sure that you rest as much as possible these next five weeks, give or take a few days,” Ratchet reminded the red and blue mech as he removed two cubes of energon from his subspace and placed them on the small metal table next to his Prime’s berth. The sweet scent of the liquid wafted up into Optimus’s olfactory sensors, and he almost gave into the temptation to swipe and down one of the untainted cubes, but the medic beat him to it as he emptied two thin vials of a clear liquid into the blue energon. The two cubes turned pink within a second of each other. “I’m going to be on monitor duty and you will have to accompany Bumblebee on patrol when Bulkhead and Arcee return. This should field you for the next few hours until then.”

Ratchet turned to leave, but then noticed the semi’s blank expression. He cocked an optic ridge and gently walked over to the Prime, taking a servo into his own, and murmuring, “Will you be okay, Optimus?”

“Hmm…” came the absent-minded reply from the red and blue mech as he stared expressionlessly at the pink cubes before snapping out of his trance and locking his blue optics with those of the medic. “I’m fine old friend. I’m just…I’m just…” Optimus trailed off before he could finish his thoughts, slipping back into a reverie and looking away from Ratchet.

“It still hasn’t sunk in that you’re a creator to be, has it?”

A quiet and frustrated rumble from the Prime. “Not entirely.”

“And you’re not used to doing nothing, as you feel you’ve been doing for the past few hours.” It wasn’t a question. More of a statement.

Optimus sighed and seated himself on the berth before he swung his long legs onto the metal slab, leaning back into the wall, staring up at the high ceiling. “I am the commander of the Autobots, Ratchet. I am Prime. I am the leader, and I shoulder every burden those titles entail with them. A part of me is mentally berating myself for having gotten into this sort of mess.”

“Optimus.” Ratchet took sat on a cleared part of the berth. “You were not yourself. Stop it. Enough. It will not do you or the sparkling any good to dwell on the identity of the sire and it certainly is not your fault for falling pregnant.”

The Prime huffed a small sigh through his vents, wrapping his arms around himself and leaning his helm back to touch the wall as he closed his optics. He drew his legs up and towards him.

Ratchet took that as a sign that he needed to be left alone. Getting to his pedes, he took three quick steps toward the doors, until he heard that lovely baritone voice say, “I was never sure if I wanted a sparkling.” He turned around again and focused straight on the Prime, placing his servos on his hips as a signal for the leader of the Autobots to keep talking. The Prime’s optics were still shut as he sighed and softly continued, “When this war broke out I swore that I would never entertain the idea of bringing a sparkling into a war-torn universe. If I desired a sparkling, I promised I would wait until the war was over. I broke my promise to myself.”

“It only counts as breaking your own promise if you have a memory of doing so.”

“Nothing you can say will make myself feel any less guilty for bringing a new life into a universe that war has torn asunder. Were…” Optimus trailed off and tightened his arms around himself.

“Were what?”

The sparkling twirled in the tank that housed him or her. Optimus opened his optics, keeping them on the ceiling. “Were I not so far along that I can feel the infant’s movements I would ask for a termination.”

“Optimus…I could likely still perform one but-”

“It would be much easier for me to decide to terminate the infant if I could not feel his or her actions. And if I had not already seen him or her on the monitors. No, Ratchet. As much as I did not want this sparkling, and do not want for the child to grow up in a war-torn universe, I cannot bring myself to end its life.”

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way, Optimus,” Ratchet said as he resumed his walk to exit the Prime’s quarters. “Were I to peform a termination at this point in the gestation cycle, you’d likely be injured in the process. A fellow medic told me of a femme who terminated her sparkling at about this point, and suffered damage to her reproductive chamber, rendering her infertile.”

The Prime watched the medic’s back retreat away from him and out the sliding doors. He glanced over at the cubes of energon at the berthside table and debated downing one before he went into recharge. He chugged one down quickly to lessen his chances of choking on the vile flavor before he lay on his side and fell into a dream cycle.

.-.-.

_He woke to a darkened room, moaning as digits caressed his exhausted frame and set his ever-willing sensors on fire. The pleasant, heated sensation coursed through his neural circuitry and made his cooling fans click to life, trying to lower the temperature of his heating frame. He gave a frustrated cry when the other removed his fingers from his body, only to gasp when two digits shoved themselves into his leaking and ready valve, stretching him._

_“Please,” he moaned, shifting on the berth so he could get closer to the questing fingers pumping into him and spreading the lubricant to every inch of the valve. “Please, more,” he whispered to the dark figure hovering over him. A click! echoed in the room, the digits withdrew from his quivering valve, and he shivered lustily when he felt the bulbous tip of a prepped spike rubbing around the wet entrance into him. His lover teased him, rubbing the spike around and around but never penetrating into him. His hips bucked, his servos flew out to grab the edges of the berth, and he threw his helm back to the berth as he cried, “Don’t tease me, please!”_

_Showing the bottom mech some mercy the dark figure shifted his body, and Optimus’s intakes hitched as he was slowly breached. Letting out a loud groan, the red and blue mech wriggled his hips and pleaded, “Take me, now!”_

_Hips and spike withdrew slowly, and slammed back into home, jarring the mech, who moaned and pleaded for harder, faster, more, more, more._

_The figure, whomever it was, suddenly seized the semi’s legs and hoisted them over his shoulders to change the angle of his thrust and allow him to get deeper. Optimus cried in euphoria as that sensitive node at the back of his valve was brushed with each thrust._

_“Yes, yes, yes,” he chanted breathlessly as he was jarred up and down on the berth, aware of the digits caressing his thighs, his motions on the berth scratching the paint on his back, his imminent overload approaching. His valve rippled around the large spike, and he cried to the gods as his peak overcame him, washing him up in a current of bliss._

_His hidden lover thrust once, twice more into the valve before stilling and emptying a rush of hot and yet cold transfluids into the valve. Optimus squirmed slightly as he felt the liquids sloshing inside of him, but that was forgotten when servos roamed at his chassis plates, finding the seam where his plates parted and opening them manually. His blue spark and the spark of the other Cybertronian bared themselves to each other, then merged._

_And Optimus threw his helm back in ecstasy once more._

.-.-.

Knockout hated his job this moment.

He pinged the Decepticon Warlord, and prayed to Maker and Unmaker that he would keep his helm on.

::What is it, Knockout?::

::My Lord, I have to inform you of something troubling I discovered::

The silence on the other end was an obvious signal for the medic to keep elaborating. The red sports car hemmed before continuing ::I have just reviewed the medical records on Optimus Prime…or Orion Pax:: he corrected himself ::from the three evaluations I performed on him during his two month stay on the _Nemesis_ ::

::Well?:: the Decepticon tyrant was obviously impatient.

::Patience, my Lord, please. I performed one when he first arrived here. The second evaluation was done when those two Eradicons almost jumped him a solar cycle later. The third one…::

::Get on with it::

::I normally hook my patients up to a spark monitor and another device that senses any major developments in their frames. Nothing was out of the ordinary on the first two check-ups, but on the third one, which was done when I changed his Autobot insignia to our Decepticon crest, his spark was low on energy, his tanks were low on energon, and…::

::If you keep me waiting any longer I will have both yours and Breakdowns T-Cogs removed and-::

::The Internal Health Tester that I had hooked up to his spark chamber detected his low spark energy, his rapid run through of his morning energon, and also detected the presence of another spark:: Knockout finished rapidly, flinching as he waited for the outburst he was sure would follow…

Or not.

Silence greeted his audio sensors. The Decepticon leader was silent for a full minute before he answered ::And you’re absolutely certain about this, Knockout?::

::As certain as can be, Lord Megatron. With your permission I would like to gather everyone on the _Nemesis_ to test their spark signature against that of the spark that Optimus Prime is carrying. The spark emits a second signature that is a blend of both Optimus Prime’s and its Decepticon sire-::

:There is no need to gather everyone::

::Why not, my Lord?::

::You may gather data on my spark. I can assure you, if you blend the spark signatures of both Prime and I, the result with match the second signature of the newspark. The Autobot leader is the carrier of my heir::


	6. Patrol

Bumblebee was void of words when Optimus and the young scout set out on their patrol shifts. The route for the day called for the two Cybertronians to patrol the streets of Jasper before heading off to give a few rounds in nearby Valley of Fire State Park. Their shift was from 2pm to 8pm, 6 hours, just like Bulkhead and Arcee’s shift before was from 8am to 2pm.

Optimus was not looking forward to driving around with a disoriented mind and sparkling twirling about inside of him. There was also that persistent feeling of nausea present in his systems. He hoped to Primus that if he ended up needing to purge it would be away from a human populace.

So far, he was holding steady.

But this was only the beginning.

The Prime settled for cruising along the roads at a slower speed than normal, his processor only focused on the roads and the traffic lights. If memory served him right this was the second time he and Bumblebee passed by these exact lights, located smack next to the place where Jack worked. What was it again? K.O. Burger?

_::Beep-beep!::_

First time he forgotten to keep his optics on the lights, which had chosen that exact moment to turn from red to green. The red and blue semi surged ahead of the yellow scout, faster than he'd originally intended, and sent his internals whirling. As luck would have it it was a Sunday and most of Jasper's inhabitants were all on out-of-town jaunts, so Optimus had no problems hightailing it towards the outskirts of this desolate little town, his wheels throwing dust in the air. When he reached a rocky formation not entirely different from the one that housed the missile silo he took on his bipedal mode and clambered into the shade of it, kneeling on the ground and wondering exactly _what_ was left in his digestion tanks for him to vomit.

_Beep!_

The Prime placed both his servos over his abdominal plating and sighed heavily, waiting for his mind to quit cartwheeling before he said, “I am fine, Bumblebee. I'm just suffering from disorientation and...exhaustion.”

_Beep-beep-beeeeep._

“I have no other choice, because I cannot put Ratchet into any danger.”

_Beep?_

“Bumblebee, he is our medic, and not so easily replaced. And a most trusted friend...” Optimus sighed again and withdrew into a small crevice in the rocks so he would only be sighted if someone actually knew what they were looking for. The Autobot Commander drew his legs up to his broad chassis and held his helm in his servos, closing his optics and relishing in the forgiving darkness it brought him.

The yellow scout emitted a soft chirp and chirr, to which he responded, “I will be fine. Let us just stay here for a time.”

_Beeeeeeeeeeeep?!_

“Ratchet knows how my condition is affecting my ability to carry out my duties. And he will alert us if there are any foreign signals heading our way. Please, Bumblebee,” he looked up, pleadingly, at the young Cybertronian. “I am not feeling well. Please, just let me stay here.”

Bumblebee crouched to the ground directly in front of the Prime, looking at him with bright blue optics both aged and tainted with scenes of war yet still so youthful and innocent. The scout tilted his helm and looked at the Autobot insignias on the Prime's shoulders, reaching out to gently touch the one on his right. Optimus stirred and looked up, his deep blue optics meeting the light, light blue of the scout's.

_Beep?_

“You may leave if you wish, Bumblebee. I'm choosing to stay until I am able to stand up without wanting to crash again.”

The yellow mech didn't leave, choosing instead to sit on the floor directly in front of his Prime with his doorwings flared into a V-formation and his bright optics looking curiously at the semi's midsection. When he caught Optimus looking at him, he chirred and looked in the direction of the crevice's opening, intently staring as if daring the world to come in and disturb the semi.

Optimus merely withdrew into himself again, wrapping his arms around his knees and resting his helm on them as he slowly drew in and let out breaths to calm himself down.

If there was anything that the Prime hated more than this never-ending war, it was feeling useless. He'd felt as such when he had been Orion Pax, useless to the universe as a whole as he transcribed data and filed it all into a million different categories in Iacon, without a purpose. Megatronus had given him purpose. So what was his purpose now? To feel unceasingly weak and in need of constant assistance?

_'Frag you, Primus. Frag you, Decepticon that planted this little one inside of me.'_

As he looked at the scout's cheery blue optics, Optimus couldn't help but feel some of his anger ebb away. He returned the littler mech's smile, listening as Bumblebee asked, _Beep-beeep-beep-bep-beeep-beeeeeeeeeeep-beeep?_

“The news was very surprising. But now, yes, I am happy. I feel I will be able to raise this sparkling.”

Bumblebee tilted his helm on the side, briefly reminding Optimus Prime of the little organics called cats that humans seemed so fond of, and beeped another inquiry at the Autobot Commander.

“The identity of the sire does concern me some, for I do not wish to not be able to answer the child's questions when they inquire of their co-creator. I will not love my sparkling any less, however.”

_Beep. Beep-beep-beeeeep?_

Optimus couldn't help the small grin that graced his faceplates as he closed his optics and pondered the question posed to him. “I just want the sparkling to be born healthy. I do not care if the little one is a mech or a femme.”

Well, at least his carrying cycle hadn't diminished any of the patience he had for the young, yellow scout.

The Prime remembered Bumblebee when he had first laid optics on him. Ratchet, having just lost his sparkmate Ironhide, took a shine to the young mechling that had been brought to him with a ripped vocoder, the only survivor of a trio of Autobots gone to spy in Tyger Pax. The medic had saved the little mech's life, but was unable to restore back the gift of speech, which devastated him greatly. That remorse only multiplied tenfold when the medic found that this young mechling was the last sparkling whose birth was recorded. The same mechling that lost his twin at birth, and whom he had to rip from his carrier so prematurely. A hundred stellar cycles had passed since Bumblebee's premature arrival at Praxus to the mech and femme slaughtered in front of their son. At least they did not have to see Megatron rip out his vocals.

Optimus felt so much pity for the Autobot scout. He could not fathom having to be without the use of speech, and it broke his spark to see such a young Cybertronian having to go through so much trauma, both mental and physical.

Bumblebee, however, defied expectations, much to the delight of his self-appointed adoptive carrier, Ratchet, and to the delight of his new sire-figure, Optimus. Those first few solar cycles he rarely left Ratchet and the Prime's side, clinging to them as if they were life itself. And even to this moment, millions of stellar cycles later, Bumblebee still considered Optimus and Ratchet as his creators.

_Beep?! Beee-eee-eeeeeeeeeep! Beep?!_

“Oh,” Optimus was startled from his train of thought by the young mech calling out to him. “I'm sorry, Bumblebee. What was that?”

_Bee-ee-ep!_

“Oh...why...yes, you may. But you cannot feel anything at this sta-”

Bumblebee didn't seem to care as he quickly clambered forward to sit next to the red and blue semi, leaning sideways as he placed his helm on the Prime's midsection, searching, hearing for any sort of movement from the sparkling.

The Prime groaned to himself and wondered if _every_ species throughout the universe had that same inexplicable fascination with and urge to invade the private space of a member of their race that was expecting young. He'd seen human women hover around a carrying female, cooing and touching her distended abdomen, and he pitied the poor organic because she didn't seem to enjoy it very much.

He had to control himself from jolting when Bumblebee placed a servo on his abdominal plating and tapped over his gestation chamber. The scout repeated the motion several more times before removing his servo and looking up at Optimus with a defeated expression.

“I myself can just barely feel when the sparkling moves, Bumblebee. Do not worry yourself.” He grinned down at the scout.

Bumblebee beeped softly before he stood up, a forlorn expression still on his faceplates.

::Optimus, do you copy?::

::I'm here, Ratchet::

::You and Bumblebee have been off the course and stagnant for a while already. Do you require backup?::

::No, old friend. Both of us are perfectly well, I was just in need of a brief rest::

::Are you sure you do not want me to take over your shift?::

::Very sure::

Optimus cut off the communications link with the medic before smiling down at the scout. “I believe we have a state park to inspect and patrol.”

Bumblebee chirped and beeped gaily before reconfiguring himself into a yellow muscle car and speeding off in the direction of Valley of Fire, Optimus directly behind him.


	7. Match

Knockout had to keep himself steady and tell himself not to shake/show fear as he waved a thin, metal wand over the Decepticon Warlord’s chassis. Having Megatron on the medberth, laying before him, was nothing completely new, as the month the Decepticon tyrant had spent in stasis lock was fresh on his processor. Then again…Megatron had been comatose. Unfeeling, unblinking. Unlike the large silver mech fixing a menacing glare on him, as if daring the red sporty car to touch his frame directly.

The medic was a bit too eager in his steps as he scurried away from the silver mech, beaming the results of the scan to the monitor connected to their medical database. On the top-right corner of the screen was an outline of the enemy faction’s oh-so-righteous leader. A thin line rising and falling inside of the form represented Optimus Prime’s spark pulses and therefore, his spark signature. Just across from the Autobot leader was an outline of Megatron, his own spark pulses showing inside the form now that Knockout had uploaded the information. Directly in between the two leaders, on a lower plane, was an indiscriminate image of an unborn Cybertronian in gestation chamber. Over it was the foreign spark signature his machines had detected within Optimus Prime. It was faint, and rose and fell very softly, but even fainter was the second spark signature of this spark

“Each spark of every bot actually contains two spark signatures, Mighty Megatron,” Knockout commentated as he grabbed the sparkbeats of the infant spark and separated the lines. “There is one, stronger,” he pointed to the one line rising and falling the hardest and loudest and in red to show its strength, “that is the true signature of the bot. It is unique, and no other bot possesses the exact frequency and strength of it. However, the second signature,” he pointed to the line below, rising and falling smoothly and softly and in blue,” can also be separated into two lines.”

“And these two lines are the unique spark signatures of the sparkling’s creator, am I right?” Megatron’s low voice inquired of the medic, nearly startling the sports car out of his red paint job.

“Right you are.” Knockout moved the sparkling’s true half of the spark signature out of the way into a little corner where it continued its repetitive beating, and zoomed in onto the fainter, second signature. He placed two delicate, pointed digits on the blue line and drew it apart until it was completely separated. He flicked the half of the second signature with the higher frequency, which he put in a blinding white color, up towards Optimus Prime’s image where it collided with the spark signature already there. The other spark signature, in a deep pitch black, he rotated and placed gently over the Decepticon leader’s own spark signature.

Of course, Optimus Prime came up as a perfect match to the sparkling. The outline of his frame pulsed brightly. Knockout could feel Megatron’s steel gaze on his back as he looked up to the other corner where the intimidating silver mech was. The progress bar on the scan was filling up swiftly until Megatron’s image, too, pulsed brightly. 100% match.

“Well, what do you know,” the medic mentioned lightly. “Our medical devices are still capable of determining sire and carrier. If you want I can take your own spark signature and possibly enhance it to determine your own sire and carrier, Lord Megatron-”

“Enough blather, Knockout.”

The medic flinched and saved the results from the parentage test into a file on the database. “What is your next move, Lord Megatron?”

The Decepticon warlord stayed silent. His crimson optics were fixated on the monitors, darting from him to Optimus to the sparkling’s signature and back to himself again. He merely growled before he turned on his pedes and walked away from the medic, and out of the doors of the medbay.

_::Knockout, are you okay?::_

_::Yes, Breakdown, I just…conducted a scan on our dear leader::_

_::Was it a match?::_

_::Was there ever any doubt that Optimus Prime’s sparkling was sired by him?::_

_::Well, no…::_ Knockout heard the sigh that his bondmate gave through the sparklink, and copied it as well as he shut off the monitors, bathing the room in further darkness. _::Did he say what he’s going to do next?::_

_::Nope::_

_::You better stock up on spare parts and more medical stuff then. Just in case::_

_::I’m ahead of you::_

.-.-.

After he had gotten off the link with Optimus, Ratchet had holed himself up in his medbay, reviewing the data from the scans he had performed on the Prime and on the sparkling. None of the information had really seemed to sink in at the initial times he’d examined Optimus and the sparkling’s well-being. He knew what he was looking at then…but it hadn’t fully hit him.

“Just…just why?”, the medic inquired of no one in particular. Not that there was anyone around to hear him.

It was hitting alright.

Ratchet briefly wondered how many times that Decepticon had fragged Optimus into the berth in the two month span that the red and blue mech had had his memories taken from him. How many times the berth creaked under their weight as Optimus moaned and groaned, begging for more as he wrapped his legs around the unknown mech’s waist and savored the feel of…

No, bad Ratchet.

That was NOT Optimus, that was Orion Pax.

 _What’s the difference, though?,_ a small part of his processor inquired of him. _Both are in one body, and both are carrying a Decepticon’s spawn. It may have been Orion Pax that consented to carrying, but it will be Optimus Prime that births and raises the child._

“Shut up,” Ratchet mumbled to himself. A moment later he was back to wondering. He and Optimus had been berthmates for millennia. He was familiar with every curve and dip and pleasure spot in the Prime’s body. How sucking on his elegant finials would make him tense, his back arch, and a low moan escape those wonderful lipplates. How stroking the seam where his chassis plates parted made his optics flare and his intakes hitch. How, just before he sank into the Prime, Optimus’s inhalation rate would skyrocket and Ratchet would have to lean down and press his lips over the other mechs own to calm him down. It was an injustice, the medic found himself thinking. _That should be my sparkling in there. That sparkling should be mine and Optimus’s, a product of our love that has spanned so many millennia and light-years._

“Not a product of a depraved Decepticon,” Ratchet said outloud. He didn’t notice until the echo reverberated back towards him. He jumped and looked around, but he was glad to find that he was still alone.


	8. Mortification

The Autobot medic resigned to his exhaustion and retired to his quarters where he headed directly to his berth, collapsing onto it and welcoming the comfort and blissful nothingness that greeted him. He hadn’t slept fitfully the past few nights, lying awake with his optics staring at the high ceiling.

Sometimes his processor was blank; he didn’t form any sort of thought. And sometimes his processor was a roller coaster, careening in every direction, contemplating everything, _everything_ about Optimus. The Prime had gone through many changes in these past two weeks since they’d gotten him back. The medic was unsure what to think of them.

Ratchet turned on his side, arms flying out and flopping over the edge of the berth and let out a very loud, undignified grunt. For the first time in a while his mind was both blank and at ease. Swimming smoothly in a vast expanse of rich, rich high grade, calming him. His recharge was so fitful and pleasant that he didn’t want to open his optics. Not even when he felt that slim servo coasting over his lower abdomen, circling on the armor there, and heading down to his…

The medic’s optics snapped open and came to lock with another pair of blue orbs staring back at him from the dark. The combined light of their optics illuminated the fine and elegant faceplates and finials of the mech looking down at him, and also let Ratchet see the air quivering around the other’s frame as he gave off heat.

“Optimus!” the medic hissed as he grabbed the dark servo in his silver hand. “How did you-”

“Security code,” Optimus replied before he leaned in and tried to kiss the medic. Ratchet scrambled further up the berth, sitting up against the wall (a mistake, he later noted) with his optics wide.

“Optimus! Stop it! You need to get your sleep-”

Whatever else Ratchet had to say to his Prime was cut off as Optimus succeeded in pressing his lipplates over the medic’s own, making the medic gasp and moan into the kiss. The Prime bit down on the ambulance’s lower lip, tugging it with his dentals, growling, “Frag me. Frag me hard. So hard that I won’t be able to walk for a week.”

Ratchet tried to scramble away from the mech and put a cap on his desire to obey his Prime’s commands. It was no help, as Optimus had no trouble pinning the medic down and whispering into his audio, “I want you to put your fingers in my valve and stroke, drive me close to overloading. I want you to pull them out and push your hard, dripping spike inside of me, and keep pushing it in and out, in and out,” the Prime dragged his glossa over the medic’s audios. “I want you to fill me up with your transfluids. I want to feel them sloshing around inside of me. I want to wake up and have you still-”

The tables turned, and Ratchet could no longer control his mad desire. He grabbed the Prime’s broad shoulders and slammed him to the berth, seizing his lipplates in a possessive, fierce kiss. Ratchet savored the gasp that Optimus emitted when he reached down to remove his valve cover and thrust two digits into the already-lubricated opening, reaching in and pressing that raised sensor node near the back of the Prime’s valve.

“Have me still what, Optimus?” Ratchet smirked down at the Prime, flicking his digit over the sensitive node and watching the semi twitch and gasp with each stroke. “What do you want me to still do?”

“I-I,” Optimus gasped, his optics flaring to near-white and closing as he opened his mouth into an ‘O’. “I want to have you still inside of me when I wake up. I-I-ahh!”

Ratchet could see that the Prime was nearing his overload, and withdrew his digits. Optimus hissed in malcontent, but then gasped again when the medic pressed his spike to the rim of his valve and moved the tip around, spreading a mixture of lubricants and transfluids, before breaching the sensitive port.

Optimus reared up and pressed Ratchet to the wall. The Prime and the medic quickly rearranged themselves, Ratchet sitting with Optimus in his lap. The Autobot Commander steadied himself, placing his servos on the medic’s shoulders, before lifting off the spike and impaling himself on it again, eliciting a shuddering gasp from both mechs. Ratchet placed a servo on his leader’s hip and the other on his pert aft as he raised his hips to meet those of the Prime.

It was then that a soft _clang!_ echoed around the room. Both mechs went still, looking at each other with widened optics.

Then it occurred again.

There was no mistaking it.

It was the sparkling kicking.

Optimus winced and put his servo directly over his midsection. “No little one, please stop kicking.”

_Clang!_

“Don’t bother, Optimus. The little one can’t understand you.” Ratchet placed a servo on the Prime’s midsection, activating the sensors on his fingertips to make certain that nothing was wrong with the sparkling. “And you need to get used to it from here on out, Optimus. Take it this way,” the medic and the Prime untangled themselves from each other, Ratchet closing both their panels. “At least with every kick you know-”

_Clang clang!_

“-that he or she is alive.”

Optimus pursed his lipplates in a grimace, rubbing the spot on his abdomen where the infant was kicking. “And he or she is very energetic.”

“Prepare for a rather large sparkling, Optimus.”

Ratchet’s optics were wide, which disconcerted Optimus slightly. The Prime stood from the berth, still rubbing where the sparkling had played drums on him. “Why are you warning me this, Ratchet?”

“You’re…ahem,” the medic coughed slightly and gestured to the red and blue mech’s body. “You’re beginning to round.”

“Round?”

“Round.”

It took three seconds of Optimus staring through his narrowed blue optics at the white and red mech to fully understand where the medic was getting at. When he did, the Prime’s optics widened as well, and he turned around, back to the ambulance, and felt over his midsection with both his servos.

There it was.

But it was very slight, almost indiscernible. Optimus felt a small wash of relief come over him. He was not prepared to answer the children’s questions on whether or not they could rub their hands over his midsection to feel for movement.

“Don’t worry about how the emergence process will go, Optimus.” Ratchet was wiping down the berth and his thighs, looking away from Optimus with his posture hunched. “Should the sparkling be too big for you to birth naturally I can remove the sparkling by hand via surgical removal.”

That part hadn’t even been on his processor. At least Optimus had that worry lifted from him.

The sparkling was now moving gently around. The Prime realized that it was now very…very soft and slow. He was only six weeks in at this point. And it was getting a bit short on space inside there.

Dear Primus…

And what had gotten into him?! The last thing he recalled he was lying on his berth as he read a datapad informing him on the side effects of high grade energon on a developing newspark. Suddenly, he was pinning his medic to the berth and murmuring filthy desires into his audios.

“I…I apologize for jumping you like this Ratchet. I don’t know what made me act this way.”

“Actually, it is perfectly normal for this to occur. Human females feel an increase in their interface drive in their second trimester. Cybertronians likewise experience an increase in their interface drive from the beginning of the last third of the carrying cycle up until a solar cycle or two before the emergence process begins.”

Ah. That explained it.

It still did nothing to diminish the mortification the Prime felt. He merely mumbled a half-sparked “Good night” to the medic before fleeing the room. It wasn’t until he was already at the entrance to his quarters that he remembered the mix of lubricants and pre-transfluids staining his inner thighs. He groaned softly in embarrassment and could only hope that he wouldn’t encounter anyone else on his way to the wash racks.


	9. Betrayed

_You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, medic._

“Shut up.”

That felt like déjà vu again. Ratchet was examining the results of the latest scans on the carrier-to-be and the sparkling, marveling how healthy the unborn child was considering that he or she hadn’t gotten their fair share of nutritives the first four weeks along, when that tone in his processor surfaced again.

“I have been with Optimus for so many millennia, have seen him through the good and the bad. I’m perfectly able and prepared to help him raise this child.”

_You’ll help him, but in a medical sense only. It is not your child. You can’t possibly love a child not of your own coding._

“Stop. Stop it now,” Ratchet told himself, dropping the datapad that was currently in his servos and putting them to the sides of his helm. “Optimus is the most self-less bot I know, and I, and the others, are in full support of him.”

_Do you love him?_

Ratchet remembered all the times he had worried that his Prime would not come back from a mission. He had lived through that with Ironhide. He remembered hitting the floor and screaming when his sparkmate-to-be was never found. Optimus had selflessly given himself to Ratchet, and in the process…all these years later…

“That has nothing to do-”

_Do you love him?_

“Why are you jumping around?”

_You have a very disorganized mind. Why are you asking this? I am your own subconscious, the part of one’s processor that is never acknowledged fully._

“Optimus and I have been great friends since the beginning of the war.”

_And lovers since the middle of it._

“What are you getting at?”

_I only know what you are getting at, dear Ratchet._

“Augh, cram it and leave me to my conscious thoughts.”

There was no reply. Ratchet leaned down and picked up the datapad, his optics fixing on the outline of Optimus and the outline of the sparkling within his frame. He or she was rather large. Curled up. Sucking on the digits on the left servo and stretching the right servo out. Sucking energon and nutritives from Optimus like a parasite-

No, stop, bad medic, _bad_ medic. Do not think of the Prime’s sparkling that way. It is not their fault that their sire is a Decepticon piece of scrap. They are at no fault whatsoever. It is not their fault if they come out looking and acting in a barbaric manner like their sire…

Ratchet traced the outline of the sparkling gingerly, then traced the outline of his lover. Looking into those still optics that stared back at him, he sighed.

.-.-.

Silence was his best disguise.

He hid in the shadows the rocks cast from the rising sun, tracking Laserbeak from where he was hidden. His drone was perched on a rocky formation a mile away from his position, looking all like one of those vulture creatures that seemed fond of circling this desert wasteland. Laserbeak was currently scanning every movement and signal from everything within a twenty-mile radius, searching for any Autobot life signal.

It would be tiring and long. He and Laserbeak could likely be here for a few solar cycles.

But it was his duty to obey the will of the Decepticon warlord. Megatron trusted him with his very spark. And he was not about to lose that privilege that so many had died in attempt to earn.

::Soundwave:: Megatron called through a private communications link. ::Report::

He refused to speak out loud. He was a mech of few, if any, words. The only one he would break his own rule for was for his lord.

::Laserbeak: found nothing. Autobots: a no show::

The tyrant growled. If Soundwave were anyone else he would be cowering in fear of a strike. Megatron had never lifted a servo towards him in all the millennia that they had known each other.

::According to Knockout our dear Prime is mere days away from giving birth to my heir::

::Inquiry: will Autobots leave base?::

::I can assure you, Soundwave, that there will be a point sooner or later that our enemies will wander from their homestead. It is all a matter of patience, however…and sadly there is not much time left for patience. Increase the surveillance area, and report back to me once you find them::

With that, the Decepticon warlord cut off the communications link. The Decepticon Communication’s Officer increased his drone’s radius from twenty to fifty-miles.

And he waited.

.-.-.

**_When the sparkling is ready to exit the frame of the carrier it will release a chemical coding into the carrier’s systems, alerting that it is well-prepared to survive outside of the carrier, and the coding will then initiate the birthing process. First will come the contractions, which will appear and disappear very quickly at the beginning but will become longer and more painful as the birthing process progr-_ **

_Clang!_

“Oh!” Optimus winced in pain as the little one kicked his own intakes. He put the datapad to the side and placed a servo over the barely-there swell of his abdominal plating where the sparkling kicked, only to get kicked again. The little one was certainly strong.

“Please don’t kick me again,” the Prime asked, grinning even as he knew the infant wouldn’t pay any attention to his pleas. The sparkling responded with another jab at his or her carrier’s intakes and shifted around in the gestation chamber. The Autobot Commander briefly wondered what it was like in there. It couldn’t have been comfortable, that was certain. He had seen the scans and tests that Ratchet had performed on him only an hour ago and he pitied the little one for having to stay in such a cramped space.

“I know you’re uncomfortable in there, little one, but be patient. You’ll be out soon enough.”

The child only gave a small tap at the walls of the chamber in response.

The lights in his quarters were off, but his optics and the datapad still gave off a brilliant shine, luminous enough that he was able to see the miniscule protrusions in his armor where the sparkling banged against the walls of his or her prison. He or she was a big sparkling…possibly even bigger than he was at his own birth. His processor briefly wandered, wondering how he would be able to balance raising a sparkling and running an army to fight against the faction that his or her sire was sadly a part of.

Speaking of which…

He gave a small sigh and tapped the abdominal armor that protected his gestation chamber. “This would be far easier on me, and far easier for all of us, if I could only remember exactly who your sire is. I’m afraid that I might never remember.”

_Tap, tap._

“Should you ask me at some point in the near future what happened to your sire, there is a chance that I may not be able to answer your question.” The Prime picked up the datapad and began reading where he had left off. “I only hope that you can forgive me for not being able to provide an answer should that day come.”

The sparkling only responded with a light tap. Optimus decided that the small gesture meant that the sparkling was saying “yes”. He gave a soft chuckle and resumed learning about the details of the emergence process. “But I certainly also hope that you will consider Ratchet as your sire. Even though he is not.”

.-.-.

“Hey, Ratch.”

“Are you okay?”

The ambulance had been seated on the med berth, tossing a small rod back and forth between his servos, staring into the distance, when Bulkhead, Bumblebee, and Arcee entered into the med bay. It had been a few hours since the medic had stepped out of his comfort zone and into the main room. Ratchet started a bit and clutched the tool in his right servo and only replying, “What happened to the children? Why are you three all here at once?”

“It’s past ten,” Bulkhead offered. “Miko’s host parents will ground her for a week if she gets in past curfew again and she already got us both tickets to go see-”

“Okay Bulkhead,” Ratchet held up his left servo as he got off the slab. “Not really interested, just asking where they were.”

“Alright Ratchet, what’s with you?” Arcee placed her servos on her hips.

“What’s with me?”

Beep!

“Nothing is wrong with me, you three. I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“You know you’re a bad liar, right?”

“I really was lost in thought, Arcee-”

“No, you were lying about nothing being wrong with you, that’s what I meant.” Arcee stepped over the doorway and seated herself nearby Ratchet, at the edge of the berth, listening as the other two mechs ambled after her.

Ratchet scoffed and crossed the length of the medbay, putting the scanning rod away in its place as he warned, “You should know better than to falsely accuse the only Autobot medic in this part of the universe of being a liar. I do have the ability to reformat you into waste receptacles, and I wouldn’t hesitate if it were for the fact that we are the only Autobots around.”

“Empty threats,” Bulkhead said cheerily, turning to Bumblebee, who returned the smile. “We’re used to them Ratch, you gotta come up with a new way to scare us all.”

The medic growled lowly, the Wrecker and the scout laughed. Arcee merely crossed her arms over his chassis. “Spill it, Ratchet, what’s wrong?”

The medic growled again, turning swiftly to face the motorcycle and fixing her with an angry gaze. “There is nothing wrong with me at the moment, excluding the fact that my anger levels are rising due to your false accusations and pointless inquiries.”

Narrowing her optics, the blue femme countered, “I think you're forgetting that alongside having known you for a long time, you tend to wriggle your digits when you’re stressed. So spill it. You can't fool me any more than you can fool Primus himself.”

Ratchet sputtered and shook his helm, clenching his servos into fists, turning away from the other three and muttering angrily.

Arcee leaned back on the berth, supporting herself with her servos. “Ratchet, you can tell us anything, you know that, right?”

The medic didn't respond for a moment. He merely wandered over to the wall furthest from the other three.

Everything. Everything that he had seen and gone through with Optimus these past four-and-a-half weeks hit him. He saw it all pass over his optic sensors. Along with memories from the past, on Cybertron, and beyond. “That should be my sparkling,” he murmured.

The silence in the medbay became very profound. Bumblebee and Bulkhead glanced at each other, whereas Arcee leaned forward, crosssing her arms and placing them on her knees.

“We've been together for millions of stellar cycles. Our relationship predates the entire human race that our charges are a member of. Yet after just _two_ months aboard the Decepticon ship,” Ratchet placed a fist on the wall and rested his forehelm on his balled-up servo, closing his optics and continuing, “he comes back to us almost halfway through a pregnancy that should not have been in the first place.”

“You’ve been holding this in for a while, haven’t you?” Bulkhead inquired after a few moments silence.

“Slagging right I have.” Ratchet turned around to face the three younger Cybertronians. “I’ve been doing my best to put my feelings aside, but each and every time that I perform a scan on Optimus to make sure that he and the sparkling are faring well I am seized with an anger that I have to quash. It’s an injustice that in such a short amount of time a depraved Decepticon, no doubt taking advantage of his amnesiac state, manages to conceive a child with our Prime.”

“What are you getting at, Ratchet?” Arcee inquired, sliding off the berth.

“I…I can’t do this anymore.”

When the medic said those five words he felt a huge load lifted from his shoulder struts. He closed his optics and raised his helm to the ceiling. “Forgive me, Primus,” he whispered. Looking back at his fellow Autobots, he said, “I’m a coward. I can’t do this anymore.”

Beep?

“I can’t pretend that this doesn’t bother me any bit when it fact it is all that I think about day in and day out, each cycle since he came back to us. Who is the sire, why did this happen, exactly how many _frags_!” Ratchet raised his tone, turning and punching the wall, which sent Arcee running back towards Bulkhead and Bumblebee and the three readying to subdue the medic if need be, “did Optimus consent to before that _thing_ flared into life inside his gestation tank!”

“Ratchet, you know that Optimus was not himself.

“A part of me does. But another part of me wants to know why. Just why?” the medic slumped to the ground, optics dimmed in a mixture of shock, anger, and sadness. “I’ll never be able to look at him the same way again. All because of that sparkling that shouldn’t even exist. That sparkling that, were I able to, I would have terminated at my first chance…”

.-.-.

Optimus set his lipplates into a straight line. Even the sparkling was still, as if digesting the medic's words. His inhalation rate spiked as he tried to control the anger and grief and disbelief that was welling inside of him.

All this time. He’d actually believed that the medic had his back. That the medic was in full support of him… the Prime felt betrayed by the one he loved the most.

He straightened himself up, placed a servo over the almost-imperceptible bump in his abdominal plating and sighed. “I apologize in advance for this.” The Prime reformatted himself into his red and blue alternate mode and sped past the entrance to the medbay towards the exit of the missile silo, ignoring the four voices calling for him to come back.

He would come back on his own terms.

.-.-.

::Autobot: traveling down desert highway::

::Which one?::

::Confirmation: Optimus Prime::

A low chuckle filtered through the communications link. ::It was all a matter of patience::


	10. Missing

It was almost midnight when Optimus reached that rocky formation and crevice that he and Bumblebee had rested in only weeks ago. He had been driving frantically around, on and off the road, his wheels kicking up dirt and dust as he tried to calm himself down and convince himself that he had heard wrong.

He sped towards the back wall of the crevice at full speed, then changed back into his bipedal form, dropping to the ground on his servos and knees and shuddering as he tried to hold back a wave of tears. His inhalation rate hadn’t decreased since he’d sped out of the base. After all this time…Ratchet. The one bot he loved so much that he was willing to lay down his life for, to say those things about him not to him, but to the other three? And to bring his unborn, helpless sparkling into the mix?

The Prime fixed his position so he was sitting down, back to the crevice wall, and drew his legs up to his chassis as much as he could. Optimus placed both his servos on his midsection and sobbed quietly. “I’m so sorry, my sparkling. I am so, so sorry.”

The sparkling had stayed still the entire messy ride out of the base and during his wild drive through the desert, into the streets of Jasper, up and down a small rocky formation, and into the crevice. After a few moments of still and loud silence the sparkling seemed to find it okay to move, and Optimus felt the little one shift slowly in the cramped space.

“I am so sorry that you had to hear him say those things,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “It seems I made a mistake in my judgment, little one.” He sighed and leaned his helm back to touch the rocks, shutting his optics and in the process allowing a few drops of optical fluid to escape his optics. He stayed that way, in silence, for what seemed like an eternity but was really only about half an hour, before he heard a familiar voice calling out to him.

“OPTIMUS!”

His optics opened, lighting the up the dark space as he realized whom it was. Letting out a low growl, the semi tried to angle himself in the crevice so that there was less of a chance of the medic seeing him if he passed by the entrance, and closed his optics again. The voice kept calling out to him each minute, getting louder, and Optimus could hear the ambulance’s footfalls in the desert dirt and sand. Ratchet suddenly came close, and the Prime sighed in relief when he felt the medic’s presence leave.

He cursed himself five seconds later when, at the same time he opened his optics to see the dark night outside, the medic’s bulky frame filled the entrance to his hideout.

Two pairs of sky blue optics bore into the darkness, one pair hostile, the other pair clearly upset.

“Optimus-”

“If you had any common sense left in your systems you would leave this instant.”

The sheer venom in the Prime's voice made Ratchet flinch. “Optimus,” the medic stepped forward into the fissure, holding out a silver servo, his blue optics pleading with the Prime. “Please,” he whispered in desperation, his servo quaking. “I did not mean all those things that I had said.”

The Prime's gaze only hardened as he straightened himself up and a furious rumble came from somewhere deep in his broad chassis. Ratchet had never heard the Prime so angry before. He took a small step back and let his servo go limp, looking helplessly at his Commander.

“Ratchet. You are testing the little patience I have left for you. Leave me in peace.”

Something welled up in the medic, and before he knew it he had thrown himself at Optimus, pinning the taller mech to the rocky wall behind him. As it was in his programming, the Prime began struggling against the ambulance, twisting and turning and trying to get out of his grasp as the medic yelled, “I didn’t mean what I said back at the base Optimus! Please forgive me!”

“Are you going to try it now?!” The Prime countered, raising his voice to a decibel he hadn’t used in centuries. “You wanted to terminate my sparkling, didn’t you?! You have me cornered and defenseless! Go ahead and do it, Ratchet! Take my sparkling and terminate it, then rip my spark out! Would that make you feel better?!”

The medic grunted as he strained to keep the semi from hitting him. He decided enough was enough, and quickly let go of his Prime, backing up with his servos held out palm-up to signal that he wasn’t going to fight. Optimus’s intake rate reached an all-time high, about two inhalations a second, and his optics were widened in shock. He slid down back into a seated position, placing his servos on the sides of his helm and sighing as he tried to regain cognitive thought. The same could be said for Ratchet, as he was stooped over with his servos on his knees and inhaling and exhaling heavily.

“Are you okay now, Optimus?”

Blinking his optics twice, the Prime ignored the medic's question and sighed, instead replying, “Why did you not make your emotions known to me, Ratchet?”

“You're carrying, Optimus. You already have plenty on your processor.”

“Ratchet, what upset me most, besides your comment about terminating my sparkling, was that you did not come to me first to talk. If you had come to me,” the Prime rubbed absentmindedly at his abdominal plating and raised his helm to meet the medic's optics, lowering his voice, “we could have worked this out.”

“How, Optimus?”

The Prime was silent, only thinning his lipplates.

“See? There is no way that we could have worked this out. Even if you had terminated the sparkling there would still be the fact that you had been carrying the spawn of some degenerate Decepticon.”

“Ratchet, I never believed I would say this...but you hurt me deeply.” The Prime was still trying to keep some sense of composure, but Ratchet knew that deep inside the semi was breaking. “And I am ending us now.”

Now it was Ratchet's turn to feel a stab in the very center of his spark. He thinned his lipplates as he stared at the red and blue mech. All these stellar cycles together. Through thick and thin, as the humans would say. After seeing each other at their very worst and at their very best. Through the loss of loves and comrades. All that…

“Is it really that easy to throw all our history together away, Optimus?” the medic asked sadly.

The sparkling gave a loud and hard kick at Optimus’s intakes, the sound echoing in the crevice, but Optimus paid no mind to the destruction being rained on his internals. He crossed his arms over his chassis. “It wasn’t easy for me to throw away my history with Megatron,” he stated in a low, solemn tone. “But I did it. I can easily do the same with us, Ratchet.”

They heard flyers in the distance. They paid no mind to it until they were shaken by a round of laserfire.

.-.-.

::Megatron: Other Autobot present::

::Bring me Optimus Prime, and only him, Soundwave. And if any of the drones damage him in any way shape or form, you know what to do with them::

::Affirmative::

.-.-.

Maybe it was the way his carrying cycle had really messed up his entire frame, or the fact that he had not seen combat since his fight with Megatron where he had regained his rightful memories, but Optimus stared up stupidly at the black shadows in the starry sky raining laserfire on him and Ratchet. It was only when Ratchet drew his swords and screamed, “RUN, OPTIMUS!” that he came to his senses, inhaled, and drove off at top speed in his alternate mode.

The sparkling seemed to know that there was something very wrong. He or she began banging frantically everywhere his or her limbs could reach, sending Optimus into a world of pain.

Then he heard the roar of engines overhead.

He kicked his speed up a notch and took on his bipedal model again, drawing his cannons and twisting his body around to fire at the Decepticon drones aiming for him. His first shot hit the cockpit of the pack’s leader, sending the airborne ‘con to the ground in a fireball. The second one clipped a wing, sending him after the leader. The Prime quickly righted himself, standing up and aiming for those still left in the formation.

::Optimus, are you hurt in any way?::

::Only internally:: Optimus took down a drone with a cannon shot to its tailpipe and went after it, shooting it once more to ensure its destruction ::as the sparkling insists on pounding my systems into scrap::

::Is that cannon fire I hear?! Optimus, get back to base immediately, I will handle these dro-::

The communication immediately cut off, which didn’t worry Optimus as he had his servos full with trying to protect himself and his sparkling by shoving his sword into the chassis of a land drone and twisting it, watching the light drain from its optics and visor. He then withdrew the sword and flung it around so he decapitated the helm of another of the Decepticon drones that attempted to sneak up and fire a shot into his helm.

Another one descended from the sky, pointing both arm cannons at him. In the blink of an optic he turned his sword back into a cannon and met the drone cannon for cannon, blasting the ‘con backwards and completely destroying his arms.

::Ratchet, are you there?::

At that exact moment a shadow rapidly came over him, descending from the stars above. A sudden pain hit him in his neck, making him let out an agonized yell. ::RATCHET!::

Darkness fell over him. He didn’t get his reply.

.-.-.

Megatron stood in front of the screen, watching the feed Soundwave was transmitting back to the _Nemesis_. His lipplates twisted into an eerie smile, enough to make Breakdown and Knockout take a step back from their warlord. The sports car and the armored van exchanged wary glances, Knockout being the first one to speak. “My Lord, what is your next move?”

“What do you think, Knockout?” The warlord’s smile disappeared from his faceplates. He pressed a knob on the console and spoke into it. “Soundwave, send me your coordinates. I will pick up Optimus Prime myself.”

A mere two seconds of waiting, and a set of coordinates appeared on the screen next to where Optimus Prime’s unconscious frame was. Megatron wasted no time in bridging to those coordinates, walking through the rip in space and time itself. He looked at the night sky above him, to his Communications Officer standing guard, and at the remains of the drones that had been slaughtered by the Autobot Commander laying on his back on the ground in a rather unattractive position. But all that the Decepticon Warlord cared about was the unborn sparkling. He leaned down and gathered the knocked out frame of the Autobot leader in his arms and walked back into the Decepticon ship and towards the medical bay, Knockout leading him.

.-.-.

“Ratchet’s not answering.”

Beep!

“Ah,” Arcee turned towards the monitors keeping track of the outside and inside of the base, placing her servos on the keypad. “I’ll try and find his and Optimus’s signals.”

“What if we…what if we can’t find them?”

“Don’t be negative, Bulkhead.” The monitors beeped and zeroed in on a patch of desert about ten miles northwest. “I’ve got Ratchet but…oh…”

Arcee, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee’s blue optics widened in fear as the three realized that they only found their grouchy medic. Their commander, strong, wise, valiant, and almost at the end of his carrying cycle, was gone. Arcee scanned the entire globe again, and a second time again, just to make sure, but the results found nothing.

Optimus Prime was missing from the face of the Earth.


	11. Birth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **June 17, 2014** : This chapter and the next one have received some heavy edits, particularly where Megatron had displayed gender bias on the subject of the sparkling.

As odd and disconcerting as it was, Megatron had a difficult time keeping his gaze off the Autobot Commander. The Prime had always, even back when he was just a librarian, had a lean midsection, which led down to rather luscious jutting hips and smooth, silver thighs, connected to strong legs. He remembered the gluttonous, wealthy Cybertronians. Those wealthy paid good credits to surgeons and doctors to alter their frames so they could have a body like the mech currently on the medical berth before him.

What the elders said about carrying sparklings ruining your frame was true. It was a perturbing sight, that swell in the Prime’s formerly-lean midsection. The swell that housed his own sparkling. His heir.

“My Lord,” Knockout’s voice drove him from his own thoughts. The Decepticon leader let his gaze linger on the corrupted frame of Optimus Prime for another second before he turned to his medic. “Optimus Prime is far enough along that I can induce the emergence cycle and extract the sparkling without any damage to the little one’s well-being.”

“No.” Megatron smiled briefly. “I would much rather watch him go through the entire birth in pain, and watch the agony in his optics as I take the sparkling from him and kick him back to his precious Earth.”

“Well…” Knockout turned back to the monitors keeping track of the unconscious Prime’s vitals and the vitals of the sparkling. “At most it could be two or three days before the sparkling decides to show itself. Are you absolutely certain you wouldn’t rather have me do just a _quick_ cut and pluck-” the medic made a slicing gesture in midair “-so we can hand Prime back over as soon as possible?”

“I am certain, Knockout. Now kindly leave. I want to be left in peace so I may talk to Primus’s lapdog,” Megatron strode over to the berth and placed a servo on the Prime’s forehelm, gently stroking the warm metal, “when he awakens from his slumber.”

.-.-.

He groaned as he felt himself being shaken, and a familiar voice shouted, “Ratchet! Get up! Where’s Optimus?”

The ambulance put his servo out, letting Arcee know that he was fully awake, and sat up, raising his servos to clutch at his helm, which was still ringing from whatever it was that had put him in a deep, unconscious state. He opened his optics and cringed at the two pairs of bright blue optics that stared down at him. “It’s good to see you both again, Arcee and Bulkhead.”

“While we’re glad you’re alive, where’s Optimus?” Bulkhead said, standing up from his kneeling postion.

“What do you mean where’s Optimus? He’s at base, isn’t he?”

The arched optic ridges and questioning glances between the two younger Cybertronians confused him at first. He glanced between the blue motorcycle and the hefty green truck before his processor had cleared enough for him to draw a conclusion. Sighing, Ratchet closed his optics and reopened them. “Did you try to find his signal?”

“Scanned for yours and his when both of you didn’t reply. We found you here, but there’s no trace of Optimus anywhere on his planet,” Arcee replied, helping the medic find his footing. “What happened?”

“We…” the medic scrunched his optics. “What…” Then everything flooded back. “A fleet of Decepticon drones attacked us.”

“Megatron has him,” Bulkhead muttered.

“I have every reason to believe that you are right, Bulkhead,” the medic affirmed.

.-.-.

The warlord watched the Prime sleep, his optic covers fluttering, watched his chassis rise and fall softly. Smiling, he wondered exactly what was going through the Autobot Commander’s mind. He shifted his glance down to the Prime’s midsection, gently placing a clawed servo on the swelling and feeling the movements of the sparkling underneath the plating. The little one stopped suddenly, then gave a hard kick to his servo.

“Heh.” Megatron chuckled lightly and tapped back at the abdominal plating. “You’re a strong one, my child.”

The only response was another kick.

Megatron turned back to the Prime, looking and studying the graceful and elegant facial features of the Autobot leader. What would the sparkling look like, himself and this ex-librarian mixed together? Mostly him and a little bit of Optimus? Or the other way around? Or would it look exactly like him or exactly like Optimus.

Snorting at that image, he imagined his heir looking like the spitting image of their gentle carrier, leading the Decepticons. It would be better for his heir to resemble him, their imposing sire that was capable of striking fear into the sparks of every bot that he met. Fear was the best way to assure your power. How kind, caring, and beautiful Optimus had managed to keep his power and the Autobots together for so many millennia would forever be a mystery to him.

He began searching his processor, debating fitting names for an heir. Going through the designations of Cybertronians honorable, long gone, with strong meanings.

.-.-.

The first thing that he noticed when he moaned and stirred in his sleep was that his wrists and legs couldn’t lift off the surface he was recharging on. His intakes hitched, and he onlined his optics. The second thing he noticed was the very familiar and very unwelcome face right beside him. Optimus narrowed his optics at his nemesis and growled. “I’m surprised you haven’t taken this time I was unconscious to terminate me and my sparkling.”

Megatron smiled. That horrible, ungodly smile that made Optimus want to reach out and punch him right in his dentas, which he sadly was unable to do. So the Prime settled for glaring at the Decepticon warlord.

“Why, dear Optimus, would I want to terminate you?”

“Oh,” Optimus feigned a look of naiveté and looked around him. In the Decepticon medbay, hooked up to a number of machines and monitors, pinned down to a berth. “I am unarmed, held down, and I am close to giving birth to a sparkling that I apparently conceived with one of your own while I was in my amnesiac state.”

He was a bit startled by the louder-than-usual laugh the Decepticon leader gave. Optimus flinched when a servo gently stroked his swollen midsection and opened his mouth to tell the Decepticon leader to get away from his sparkling, when the silver, imposing mech answered, “You certainly conceived with a Decepticon.” His free servo gestured towards the largest monitor, and Optimus followed along. It took a few moments of near-silence for the Prime to understand the pictures and readings on the monitor. He didn’t understand why he and Megatron’s outlines were there, along with a capture of an unborn sparkling, until…

“No,” the Prime whispered in shock, blue optics widening and spark rate jumping. He turned and looked at the leer on the warlord’s faceplates. “No. H-how can it be possible?”

“You are far more learned than myself, _Orion Pax_ ,” Megatron emphasized the two words and made Optimus Prime cringe. “Was I wrong to assume you know how sparklings come into existence? Has it been too long since you cradled one of your precious datapads-”

“HOW?!”

It wasn’t a question. The faint and blurred memories and dreams he’d had of being aboard the Decepticon warship suddenly became crystal clear, the shined and polished silver of Megatron always there, fragging him into the berth, through the wall, arching his elegant back as their sparks met, combined, flared, gave light to a new life within him.

“You have two options, Autobot.” Optimus Prime narrowed his optics in hatred at his former lover and friend. “One.” Megatron raised up his index digit. “Knockout comes in, slices your abdominal plating open, extracts _my_ heir, gives you a quick bandage and sends you on your way. Two.” The Decepticon warlord raised up his middle digit. “I will throw you in the brig. No medical assistance. You find a way to deliver the sparkling yourself. You get five minutes with the sparkling. I take the bitlet, and send you on your way without any cleanup.” The Decepticon’s grin unnerved the Autobot Commander. “Which will be easier on your conscience?”

The only response Optimus had for the warlord was for him to spit a mouthful of energon on his faceplate. Megatron growled deep in his chassis and wiped away the oral fluids from his optics, hissing and baring his dentae. “Suit yourself, Optimus.”

.-.-.

“I’ve retrieved the frequency of the Decepticon warship from when their EM shielding was down months ago.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to track it down again?” Arcee’s nervous voice said.

“I might, if the Decepticons forgot to repair their shielding and if they have not scrambled the signal.”

“Let’s hope they forgot,” Arcee placed her servos on her hips and shared a glance with Bumblebee. “Those drones are pretty unreliable, and Starscream had a bunch of other things on his processor when he saw us aboard the vessel, taking the cybonic plague cure formula from his master’s mind.”

Beep-beep!

Ratchet began scanning around the globe for the frequencies, and groaned when he realized just how many frequencies the monitors detected on this planet. Some scrambled, crossing over each other. Each frequency would have to have their origin verified, then be scanned, picked apart to its barest form, and put up to scan against the _Nemesis’s_ frequency wavelength to see if there was a match. The entire process took about ten seconds per wavelength. He put his servos on his helm and sighed in frustration. “This is going to take a while.” Ignoring the equally exasperated sighs and groans from the other three Autobots he prayed to the Maker, _Please let Optimus and the sparkling be safe. I’ll never be able to live with myself._

.-.-.

When he had spit another mouthful of energon onto Megatron's faceplates, the Decepticon warlord took it as him picking option number two. Optimus kept his helm straight and held high as Breakdown and Soundwave marched him into the unoccupied Decepticon brig, taking him down the dark corridor to the very last one. Soundwave backed off and stayed silent, as usual, as Breakdown half-shoved the Prime through the open door and shut it behind him. “Hope you and your kid enjoy it, Autobot,” the blue van laughed as he walked back into the main halls of the _Nemesis_ , Soundwave trailing behind him.

Optimus felt around the cell, his blue optics lighting the near darkness he was in and trying to get an estimate of exactly how big the space was.

He could lay down on the floor, with a few feet of empty space above his helm. That was the length. And he could stand in the middle and reach out with both arms and barely touch the walls with his index digits on both servos. That was the width.

The Prime sat down , pushing up against a wall that was away from the window in the door, and brought his knees up to his chassis a bit, wrapping his arms around his legs. The sparkling was still, which saddened him slightly. He or she was probably in recharge. He would have liked to have some company, not just the soft pinches that kept coming and going. Optimus checked his internal chronometer. In Jasper, Nevada, it was 4AM.

What a night this had been. At the start of it he had been resting comfortably in his quarters, reading about the emergence process and chuckling when his sparkling stuck his or her foot in his intakes. Now here he was, hours later, trapped aboard the Decepticon ship with no other Autobot.

_Clang!_

Well. Now he or she was moving and awake.

If only he hadn't gotten up to go ask Ratchet to show him again how to reconnect the tubes in his chassis for when the sparkling was done feeding...what would he have been doing at this moment?

He greatly missed his datapads back at the base. Stories of great Cybertronians long gone, likely myths, but still entertaining and wonderful all the same. Non-fictional accounts of great battles. Even the one he still had of sparkling storytime. All datapads he had rescued from the Hall of Records before he and the Autobots witness the fall of their great empire, and escaped into the merciful darkness of space. What he wouldn't give to have one with him now, to ease this tedious criminal sentence.

Leaning his helm back to the wall, the Prime breathed as he searched his memory banks for a story. The little one squirmed in the cramped space and kicked his intakes. Optimus looked down at his midsection and gently chastised the little one, saying, “No, those are my intakes, my child. I need them.”

The sparkling shifted.

A second after, he felt a sharp pain course through his body very briefly, then dissipate. It still hurt him, though. Optimus placed a servo on his side, where it had hurt the most, and said, “If that was you, please stop.”

The sparkling stilled.

Then Optimus remembered.

_**When the sparkling is ready to exit the frame of the carrier it will release a chemical coding into the carrier's systems, alerting that it is well-prepared to survive outside of the carrier, and the coding will then initiate the birthing process. First will come the contractions, which will appear and disappear very quickly at the beginning but will become longer and more painful as the birthing process progresses.** _

“Oh, Primus,” the semi muttered, closing his optics. _Where is Ratchet when I need him?_

.-.-.

Arcee muttered some nonsense about wanting to hear the story about Andromeda's fight with Liege Maximo's Army of Death. Bumblebee was quiet, which was highly unlike him as the scout loved to speak at any moment he could. Bulkhead was the most entertaining, however, as the large green bot was curled into himself in a fetal position with a silly smile plastered on his faceplates.

Ratchet rubbed at his chevron, took another look at the monitor, and found that all the frequencies in the the Americas had been scanned, with none being a match. There was just the rest of the world to go.

“Bumblebee,” he called for the scout. The yellow muscle car blearily cracked an optic open. “It's your shift now.”

.-.-.

The datapads had said that the emergence process varied for each bot. Some had their sparklings deliver rather quickly, within the span of a half-solar cycle. Others took upwards of three solar cycles to deliver their child. Optimus had hoped that he'd be one of those that took a very short while, as he did not want to go through so much extended agony. He just wanted to be able to hold his child in his arms. Now he found himself wishing that the process wasn't progressing so quickly.

Optimus Prime doubled over on his servos and knees, breathing heavily to ease some of the pain that was currently wracking his entire frame.

_**Inhalation and exhalation exercise will help to quell some of the pain the contractions may bring, as will sips of cold energon and massages to the carrier's backstruts.** _

Megatron and the rest of the Decepticons would laugh uproariously if he dared to ask for energon or a rub to his spinal strut. He tensed as yet another spasm coursed through his body. It happened for a full Earth minute, then disappeared, allowing him to relax. “Little one, you are a lot of trouble,” he muttered. The sparkling shifted in his gestation tank again. Only this time, the infant shifted lower, towards his valve.

A soft popping noise reached his audios, and liquid streamed in rivulets down his silver thighs. Optimus glanced down and noted the golden hue of the fluids.

_**The infant will break the seal between the gestation chamber and the entrance to the birthing canal. The carrier will hear a slight popping sound, followed by the release of the fluids, which will be golden in color, that sustained the sparkling inside of the gestation chamber. The popping of the sealant will also signal that the carrier is nearing the actual emergence of the sparkling.** _

Optimus panted and heaved heavily, resisting the urge to shatter the walls into oblivion. He had happened upon videos of human women giving birth while browsing the World Wide Web. Were he a human female he'd be screaming his lungs out and have sheets of sweat falling down his entire body. His intakes hitched and shuddered violently, trying to lessen the pain that was coursing through his body. The sparkling didn't help either, as it gave a hard jab at his intakes. He couldn't hold back the loud keen that was ripped from his vocals as the strongest and most painful spasm yet rippled through his frame. Something told him to kneel, which he did, parting his legs and raising his lower body off the ground. Another contraction ripped through him, commanding him to push down. The Autobot Commander wasted no time in doing so, cursing himself and his frame for not waiting until he could be found. He shuddered and gasped as he felt the wet mass inch closer towards the opening of his valve. The Prime shifted and angled his valve so gravity would work with him. He was on his knees, and splayed his right servo on the floor to steady himself as he reached underneath himself to catch the sparkling. He kept bearing down, mouth opening in a silent cry, stars exploding in his vision as the pain became nearly too much for him to handle.

It was the most painful experience he had ever been through. None of the scars and wounds he had received in battle all these millions of years came close.

Optimus winced in pain as the sparkling's helm found its way out from inside his body and met the cold outside. He gently stretched the valve with his digits, aiding the sparkling in his or her emergence. His sensors screamed pain at him. The shoulders slipped free, followed by the rest of the tiny frame. He caught the little one in a servo, moving taking his weight off of his other arm and quickly moving himself to lean against the wall. Optimus cradled the tiny form in his arms, optics wide and unblinking as he stared down at the little frame he had carried in his body all this time. Everything became quiet, and as far as he was concerned there was nothing, no world, beyond this little one.

_**The sparkling may have ingested some of the fluids into its systems, so if the sparkling fails to emit a cry upon emergence it is necessary to turn the sparkling onto its midsection and rub circular motions on its back, over its intakes.** _

Optimus did so, cradling the infant so it was on its abdomen and rubbing quickly at its backstrut. He was rewarded with a hiccupping noise, followed by hoarse coughs as the infant cleared out its intakes, and a loud wail echoed in the cell. His entire spark swelled with joy; it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard in his life cycle.

“Hi there,” the Prime whispered in awe, watching the little form flail and jerk its tiny limbs around, unfamiliar with such space. “Hi, my little one,” his voice trembled, tears falling down his faceplates.

_So this is how you look. You’re beautiful, little one._

The infant's loud cries died down to soft whimpers, and the little one opened its striking blue optics. There was no doubt in Optimus's mind anymore about the infant's gender but just to be sure-

_**For the first few solar cycles after their birth sparklings have an automatic reflex: when one runs a digit down their chassis, directly over the seam where the plates split, they will separate their chassis plates to reveal their true gender type. There are two genders, mech and femme, with mechs being far more common than femmes, which occur in about every one out of thirteen births. A spark colored any shade of blue will show that the sparkling is a mech. A spark colored any shade of gold-** _

“-is a femme,” Optimus whispered, his blue optics taking in the golden hue of the infant's spark. The little one kept jerking her arms and staring at him with unfocused blue orbs. She blinked her optics repeatedly, as if trying to get this one holding her into focus. She opened her mouth, tiny glossa peeping out, and looked around the cell.

A femme.

All this time he'd been carrying a little femme. With large blue optics, tiny hands just like his own, and tiny audio fins at each side of her helm just like his.

She was absolutely perfect.

He clutched the little femme to his chassis, not minding the rest of the fluids and wires that had surrounded her during her time in the gestation chamber, and completely bathed her in his loving and calming electromagnetic field. Her umbilical line was still attached. Remembering the text he gently tried to twist it off, but he didn’t entirely succeed. A small part of it, about the length of half his digit, was left dangling. Surprisingly the little one didn’t react. The femmeling yawned and whimpered, raising a servo to touch her carrier's faceplates. Optimus leaned down and planted a kiss to the little femme's helm, not caring that he had no cloth or anything to clear the sticky fluids off her frame and that it stuck to his own lipplates.

“Hi there, my daughter.” He had contemplated names for a mech and a femme, narrowing it down to one each. Orion, his past name, for a mech. For a femme, he'd chosen the name of the most valiant femme Cybertronian of mythology, almost as strong and wise as Solus Prime herself.

“Andromeda,” he whispered down at the shivering little frame. He wrapped his arms around her further to shield her from the cold, and wiped off some of the birth fluids still stuck to her tiny frame. “That is your name, little one. Andromeda.”

Andromeda peered up at him with bright blue orbs, tiny servos finding grip on his chest armor. She was so helpless and small, and she already had wrapped herself around his spark.


	12. Escape

“How could I have been so  _stupid_!” Ratchet banged his servo on the console and glared up at the scans, all finished trying to find a certain match to the Decepticon warship’s frequency, which it failed to do. “If we failed to pinpoint Optimus’s signal in the first place, that means that he  _is most definitely_ aboard the Decepticon ship and that their shielding is repaired!”

Bumblebee whizzed in panic, his blue optics widening as the medic turned around to face the three of them and shouted, “Why didn’t any of you remind me of that?!”

“Um…” Bulkhead nervously rubbed at the back of his neck, casting a sheepish glance at the floor. “You’re the one that knows about this kind of stuff, Ratchet.”

The medic looked ready to reformat them into drones. Groaning in exasperation, Ratchet turned back to the monitors and placed his servos on his hips. He lowered his helm and sighed. “How are we going to get Optimus back?”

“PRIME!”

Everyone’s helms shot up in surprise, looking back at the African-American male glaring at them from the monitors. Fowler arched an eyebrow and looked around, asking, “Where is Prime?”

“He’s gone missing, Agent Fowler.”

“How does a twenty-something foot tall, red and blue alien robot go “missing”?”

“Optimus and I had an argument and…” Ratchet bit his lower lip and averted his optics from the human. “He drove off away from base. I followed him to get him to come back, but we were ambushed by a horde of Decepticon drones that knocked me unconscious. I have every reason to believe that they have our Prime.”

“Well then I got one word for you: Berlin.”

“Huh?” Arcee asked, summing up the questions that were running through everyone’s processor.

“The entire capital of Germany reported a black unidentified flying object overhead. Some took pictures, and they resemble the  _Nemesis_ pixel by pixel.”

Before Agent Fowler had even completed that last sentence Ratchet nearly attacked the keypad. The wavelengths all disappeared, replaced by the internet browser. The medic entered in a query on Google, and a bunch of blurry pictures dating as far back as ten minutes ago popped up. A few moments after the pictures cleared, they all saw the unmistakable dark form in the sky that was the  _Nemesis._

“Do you think Megatron has any idea whatsoever that they’re completely visible from the ground?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t really care,” Ratchet answered Bulkhead. The medic began zooming in and trying to figure out the coordinates of the ship. “Because we now have a good guess about where the Decepticon warship is headed. If we figure out where it could be we can bridge there and rescue Optimus. Hopefully he hasn’t delivered the sparkling yet.”

“What in Roosevelt’s name is a sparkling?!” Everyone had completely forgotten about their liaison.

“Oh…you’re in for a shock, fleshie,” Bulkhead smirked as Bumblebee beeped in laughter and Arcee sniggered behind her servos.

.-.-.

When he gently touched corner of the little one’s mouth, the femme turned towards his digit and opened her mouth as she tried to latch on, the textbook sign that she was hungry. Optimus parted his chassis plates and found that the feeding line located in his right chassis chamber was already full of sparkling energon. He disconnected one end from his chassis internals and held it to Andromeda’s lipplates, watching as she took the end in her mouth and began feeding. Steadying the line, making sure it would not drop, he cradled the infant closer to his chassis with one arm and gently cupped her helm with his servo.

As the seconds ticked by, Optimus found himself seized with a fierce need to protect this beautiful little being, a level of protectiveness he had never, not once in his entire life cycle, had for any other sentient being. The only ones that came close, but were still very far off, were his two ex-lovers. But they had betrayed him. They were undeserving. The only being he really had now was the small frame in his arms that he had experienced pain worse than the Pit itself to bring into this cruel universe.

He then felt something strange in his spark. As if something was poking at it…or tugging at some small corner of it. He couldn’t tell the difference, but all that instantly went away when he felt an outpouring of love in his soul.

_Allow the sparkling to be the first to initiate the creator/creation bond to give them a sense of independence. Respond back to them with emotions of love and adoration._

Andromeda’s optics blinked as she in turn felt her carrier’s emotions, and popped the feeding line from her oral cavity.

_Once this bond is activated between carrier and sparkling, it is eternal. Thoughts, emotions, entire conversations can be held between the two, exactly like a spark bond, but much deeper. They can shield each other from their innermost emotions and thoughts._

_::I will always protect you. I will eternally love you, my Andromeda, my child that came from my body itself. This I swear upon my spark::_

_The only thing that can break a bond between parent and child is death itself._

Optimus reconnected the line as best as he could, given that he had never gotten around to asking Ratchet to reteach him how to do it properly, and began looking over his daughter, taking in all her details. Blue helm, the same shade as his blue, and equally azure optics, but rounded so they were very femme-like. Her faceplates were silver. Her servos were dark grey, almost black, like his own. Her frame, her protoform, was silver like his. There were bits of armor on her frame, though, the colors deep blue and a dark violet.

What surprised the Prime and new carrier the most, however, was the presence of tiny stubs jutting out from his daughter’s shoulders in a “V” formation, a formation that was only present when…

Dear Primus, his child was a Seeker. A femme. And a Seeker.

He didn’t have time to celebrate his discovery, as he heard the doors down the hall of the brig slide open and the unmistakable sounds of Megatron’s footfalls increasing in decibels. Optimus slowly stood up, his legs shaking and still plastered with birth fluids, and protectively, possessively clutched Andromeda to his chassis. All his anger poured in through the bond and the femmeling began whimpering softly, curling into herself to make herself seem as miniscule as possible.

The little, dim light that streamed through the cell’s window went dark. Tapping was heard, and the door slid open to reveal the imposing, broad figure of Megatron.

The ex-gladiator and Decepticon warlord stepped in, his blazing crimson optics cutting through the darkness as he glared at the ex-librarian. He held the gaze for what seemed to be an eternity before casting his optics down at the impossibly small frame that he and his nemesis had created from a little berth jaunt about a month into the other mech’s time aboard the ship. Soundwave had let him see the feed, of Optimus straining and that little thing slipping from his valve into the dirty cell they were in.

And he’d heard everything as well.

“A femme.” His voice was toneless.

Optimus Prime didn’t move. The only thing the Autobot Commander did was harden his gaze.

Megatron chuckled. “It would seem that your time is up, Optimus. Come. It is time to give her to me.”

Optimus stilled, looking down at the tiny femme curled against his chassis. Her budding electromagnetic field pulsed worry and fear at him, begging her carrier to keep her safe.

“Optimus.” Megatron’s voice had an underlying threat to it. He stepped closer menacingly. _“Now.”_

Pure rage and fire rushed through Optimus’s neural net as he glared heatedly at the Decepticon warlord. He thought of his daughter, his Andromeda, his beautiful little femme, being taken away from him to grow up a depraved Decepticon like her sire. She was so small, so innocent; she would be corrupted to their ideals.

He was not going to let that happen.

The split-second that followed was lost to Optimus. He leapt to his pedes with a loud shout of pain and fury. He had Andromeda tucked safely into the crook of his left arm, and he twisted the left side of his frame away from Megatron as he unsheathed his blade from his right arm. She cried loudly as the sound of her carrier’s sword clashed with her sire’s weapon.

How he managed to fight off the Decepticon Leader in his post-birth, weakened and shaky state he didn’t know. He remembered managing to knock Megatron into the back of the room, near the wall where he had delivered the femmeling. As he rushed down the hallway of the brig towards the main rooms of the  _Nemesis_ he heard the sire of his child exclaim in disgust. He’d been pushed into the afterbirth mess that still remained there.

There wasn’t time to laugh. He needed to escape to safety, and a group of drones descended on him and Andromeda, opening fire. Andromeda’s screams increased and she sent her emotions of terror through the bond to her carrier, which only served to fuel his strength and resolve. He slew through two of them, changing his sword into a cannon and putting a shot through a few more before he managed to get away.

Optimus crouched in a dark corner, gently rocking the wailing femme and comforting her, until he was sure it was safe to venture out. He looked around, and noted the landing pad that he was standing on. It hit him that he was in the cargo hold of the ship. There had to be…Yep. A bright violet lever located a small distance away from him. He pulled on it, and the landing pad fell away from where it had been, revealing an early evening sky over a range of mountains and dense, vast forests. It was a long way down. Andromeda whimpered pitifully and nearly curled herself up into a complete ball. He bounced her up and down in his arms, panting heavily as he tried to soothe her and looking down at the landscape below, trying to decide when the best time to jump would be.

“OPTIMUS!”

The Prime turned to see his archenemy standing by the lever with Knockout and Soundwave at his side, his cannon raised and fury in his optics. “One more step and it will take a millennia for your Autobots to find every piece of you and your femme.”

“Could you do it, Megatron?” Optimus hissed, clutching Andromeda to his chassis and hunching slightly over her. “You would kill your own progeny?”

The Decepticon warlord’s optics widened slightly, and his expression became slightly slackjawed.

Andromeda’s EM field pulsed outward, sharing her terror with her carrier, her tiny servos curled up. Optimus looked down at his daughter and back up at the Decepticon warlord.

The _Nemesis_ suddenly jolted, sending all the mechs falling to the ground. Optimus landed on his backplates, servos curled over the little femme. The ship was still open to the outside and it was still flying.

It was now or never.

Without word, the Prime crawled over to the opened space, stood to his pedes, and leapt off the ship just as Megatron regained his footing and fired his cannon. The warlord narrowly missed the shot.

.-.-.

The monitors beeped frantically, interrupting Ratchet’s attempts to scan the skies over the Federal Republic of Germany. The four blinked in disbelief as their Prime’s signal was picked up. Finally.

“Ready the groundbridge, Arcee. Bulkhead, Bumblebee, you two come with me.”

.-.-.

Optimus watched from the shelter of trees as the Decepticon ship flew away into the distance. Another mystery he would have to figure out at some point or another in his life cycle was how he didn’t die in his crash-landing from three miles above.

It was lucky for him that he didn’t. And even luckier that Andromeda’s little spark was still pulsing.

His blue optics cut through the haunting blackness of the forest as he turned around, seeking an opening for him to communicate to his team. Grass, leaves, bits of birch and other plants stuck to his legs and lower body, glued to the surface by the leftover fluids of birth. He looked down at Andromeda clutched safely in his arms and her half-shut optics still emitting blue light.

“Optimus!”

For a moment, the Prime wasn’t entirely sure if he had really heard his name, or if it was just his processor playing a trick on him. Then he heard the familiar beeps of a certain yellow scout.

Three pairs of blue optics stared at him from afar, and the Prime couldn’t help the sigh of relief he emitted. But when Ratchet, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee reached him however, Optimus felt the world sway under his pedes. He managed to hand a whimpering and shivering Andromeda to Bumblebee before his vision blacked out.

The last thing he remembered saying was his daughter’s name.


	13. Andromeda

The medbay was eerily quiet, save for the noises from the machines and the soft whines from the sparkling. And for that Ratchet was grateful. He had seen and heard his fair share of sparklings that did virtually nothing but scream to the point that he had to put them in stasis to help their creators regain their sanity, if only for a while.

“Is Optimus going to be okay?” Arcee inquired, looking across the medbay where she and the other two mechs were busy cleaning off the newest arrival with a cleansing cloth that had been damped with a cleansing solution. The femme squirmed and whined pitifully, distressed as she could not sense her carrier. Her tiny servos waved and batted at the strange ones all over her frame. She didn’t know these servos. She didn’t like them. She wanted her carrier.

“He’ll be fine.” Ratchet resisted the urge to lovingly caress Optimus’s still, serene faceplates and settled for fixing one of the sensors that was attached over his spark chamber. “No doubt his escape from the Decepticon ship, coupled with the fact that he gave birth, completely drained his energy reserves. His instincts as a new carrier are likely what kept him going until his collapse in the Black Forest.” The medic looked at the Prime’s closed optics, flickering under their covers as he dreamt of Primus-knows-what. “We should be lucky he lasted as long as he did.”

“Um, Ratchet?”

The infant’s cries increased, but compared to the hundreds of other sparklings he had delivered throughout his life cycle her cries were still soft and almost musical. After making sure the Prime was still in recharge and alive, Ratchet made his way over to the other members of Team Prime. He found that they hadn’t made much progress in cleaning the dried and flaking birth fluids from the little one, just barely touching her as if they were afraid she would break.

“Oh you three,” the medic sighed in frustration and snatched the cleansing cloth that Bulkhead had been using, pushing them aside and swiftly yet gently picking up the femmeling. Her whimpering only increased. Her optics scrunched shut and she began squirming and kicking her legs to ward off this new set of servos that were most certainly not those of her carrier.

“Shh,” Ratchet breathed, starting to wipe down her helm. “I’m just going to clean you off.”

Almost instantly, her whimpers died down. Her blue optics widened and stared up at Ratchet critically. This didn’t escape everyone else.

Feeling their stares on him, the medic scoffed. “Since I am the one that is around Optimus the most, she recognizes my tone from her time within her carrier. Optimus is not awake currently to comfort her, so she feels a small measure of security listening to my voice. In all likelihood, I am probably the only other bot besides Optimus whose vocal tone she recognizes.”

“Giving yourself a pat on the back?”

The medic finished wiping a stray flake from the femmeling’s left finial and moved to gently cleaning her silver faceplates, chuckling as she tried to grasp his digits. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Bulkhead.”

“Well, she recognizes only you and Optimus, so it’s kinda like you were both her creators anyway. So, are you going to adopt her as your sparkling?”

“That is highly unlikely,” Ratchet replied. “Seeing that Optimus and I are no longer together.”

A stunned silence followed his seemingly casual announcement. Ratchet finished cleaning the infant’s faceplates, neck, shoulders, and moved to her right arm, dipping the cleansing cloth into the gaps between her digits, when Arcee finally broke the quiet. “You two…not anymore?”

“I believe his exact words were ‘I am ending us now.’”

“But I was thinking you two would’ve made up.”

“Not so.” And the medic felt a small pang of regret as he looked at the sparkling, the very first sparkling born in so many eons. How much she looked like their gentle Prime, how beautiful and innocent she was. Regret for saying such horrible things. _I wouldn’t have taken her from Optimus. I was just speaking in anger._ “What I said is unforgivable, you three.”

The femme chirred and cooed, blinking her large blue optics at the ambulance. Ratchet’s spark quivered as he continued, “You three may not realize the gravity of what I had said, telling me I was just angry and talking out of my aftpipe, but when you are creators...every word said against your child is grounds for your own termination. I will frankly be _very_ surprised is Optimus ever finds the strength to forgive me for my cruel words.”

Beep!

Bumblebee was staring intently at the femmeling and bouncing up and down on his pedes, his door wings bouncing. The infant turned her optics to the yellow mech, regarding him warily. She remembered him as the one that held her as her carrier’s presence faded from their creator/creation bond. He held out a finger to her, and beeped cheerily when she held out a dark servo and tried to wrap her digits around his finger. She wasn’t able to, and settled for pushing back against the scout’s digit.

“Look at that,” Arcee whispered, leaning forward and placing her servos on her bent knees, locking blue optics with the sparkling’s blue optics. “She’s moving already and she’s not even a day old yet.”

“You’ve been around the humans too long, Arcee,” Ratchet tossed away the first cleaning cloth and grabbed another one, wiping down the infant’s tiny pedes. “Cybertronian young are not as stupidly fragile and incapable of anything like the human sparklings are. She can already move her limbs, and likely in another week she will be able to pick up her helm.”

“About when will she start crawling?” Bulkhead inquired as he held a digit in front of the femme’s optics and began waggling it back and forth. Her orbs followed the movement. She cooed and tried to reach out to catch the green mech’s digit, but her arms fell limply. Saddened, her optics dimmed and she cooed sadly.

“Anywhere from three weeks to a month from now. Don’t be surprised if she defies the norms and reaches any of the sparkling milestones earlier.”

The femme chirred, waving her servos and turning her helm. Her blue optics brightened, and she chirped insistently. When the four followed her gaze they saw that she had laid optics on Optimus’s still frame on the berth. Her tiny arms reached towards the Prime.

“Hold on, Andromeda, I’ll give you to him right now,” Ratchet murmured as he finished cleaning off the femme. “But you need to get cleaned, little femme.”

“Andromeda?” Arcee inquired, having heard the name.

“When Optimus handed his sparkling over to Bumblebee, he whispered the name ‘Andromeda’ before he fell into forced stasis. No doubting that this little one here is the Andromeda he spoke of.”

Andromeda’s chirps became whines, and very insistent. Ratchet tossed the dirtied cloth into the waste receptacle, where he had thrown the first cloth, and cradled the deep blue and dark violet sparkling to his chassis. She squirmed and whined in anticipation the entire walk the medic took from the little cleaning table over to the berth, and quieted down when the mech gently placed her on her carrier’s chassis. Everyone couldn’t help but smile when the sparkling curled up into herself with her audios placed over their Prime’s chestplates, directly over his spark chamber, and gave a contented coo.

If he was going to be gone from her spark, curling up to him physically was just as good

.-.-.

Hours later, even as night fell outside of the base and the other three bots retired to their respective quarters after a long day of watching the newest addition to the team and trying to play with her, Optimus had yet to wake. Ratchet rolled a small sparkling berth over next to the medical berth, big enough so the femmeling still had room to crawl and roll around in and with raised edges and soft padding.

Andromeda was like a statue, laying on her mother’s chassis with her large blue optics concentrated on his faceplates and watching for any sign that he was going to wake up. Her wing stubs flicked every so often, letting the medic know that she was becoming irritated.

_I know how you feel, little one._

Ratchet grabbed a thick and warm blanket from his subspace, navy blue throughout with silver and white stars dotted throughout the fabric. He leaned over the Prime’s body and gently picked up the struggling femme with the sheet, placing her on her back in the sparkling berth and covering her with the blanket. She began whimpering and chirping sadly, to which Ratchet replied, “Don’t worry. He’s right here next to you.” He slowly and tenderly turned her helm to the left, and she saw the frame of her carrier. Her whimpers died down, but her optics were still saddened.  The medic sighed and looked at Optimus’s still-flickering optic covers.

“I’m sorry, but it’s out of my servos now.”

Andromeda’s gaze was still fixed on her carrier’s frame as Ratchet exited the medbay and headed for his own quarters, trying to push the sad image of her optics and sad sounds of her whines and whimpers from his processor.

.-.-.

He wasn’t offline.

But he felt as if he might as well be.

He relived each of the many, many times Megatron had fragged him into just about every inanimate object aboard the _Nemesis_. Each rush of transfluid into his valve, the one time they’d actually gathered the strength to merge sparks together. The one time that was needed to conceive their little femme. And again he lived the agony of birth. The contractions, how they made him internally scream for mercy from the Creator. The popping and rush of fluids from his valve.

Then the peace that came after as he held his little one in his arms. Clutching her wet form to his chassis, hearing her first cry, cradling her tiny fragile helm in his servo and crying along with her. A rush of emotions that he would probably never be able to put into sufficient words. The wonderful relief he felt when he was finally able to bestow her a name.

Their escape from the Decepticon ship. How he had to keep a cool helm, and comfort his little Andromeda when he felt like he needed to be comforted as well.

It was his carrier instincts, he told himself. His carrier instincts, the now primal need to protect his only child, that got them off the ship in the first place and led them to safety.

His optics, which had been closed as he lived through the past few months, cracked open. The first thing he noticed was that it was dark, save for a light source or two. The second thing he noticed was that his audios picked up the all-too familiar sounds of machines working away.

The third thing he noticed when he turned his helm to the right was the tiny sparkling curled in a berth next to the one he was on.

Optimus mustered all the strength he had left in his frame to raise his servo and place it on the little femme’s frame. Andromeda stirred in her deep recharge and raised a servo to place it on her carrier’s own, their black coloring matching. Her blue optics flickered open, and it took a few moments for her to register that the pair of cyan orbs staring back at her were those of her creator. When she did, however, a smile broke across her young faceplates and she began to chirp softly, yet excitedly.

He rolled over in his berth and gently scooped his daughter from her berth, cradling her next to his own frame and covering her with his left servo. Andromeda yawned and fell back into recharge next to her carrier. Optimus looked down at her, utmost love and protectiveness in his optics, before welcoming the recharge that overcame him.


	14. Hysteria

“PRIME!!!”

It was the early morning after a tiring and long night of waiting for their leader to wake up from his slumber, so Fowler had no idea of the tempers he had just unleashed.

Bulkhead was the first one to stumble into the main room and glare at the government agent with optics that had only gotten three hours of recharge. “What is it fleshie? And it better be important, because it’s 6:30 in the morning!”

Arcee dragged herself in five seconds after Bumblebee did so, optics flickering with lack of adequate recharge, at the same time Fowler made a noise equivalent to a hiss and raised his voice. “Listen here, Bigfoot, I’ve got America and a third of our World War II enemies knocking on my department’s door, screaming for answers to all the mass hysteria going on in their country

“What mass hysteria, Agent Folwer?” Ratchet grumped when he stepped in and stood in front of the concrete landing.

Fowler took a few deep breaths to calm himself down before replying, “Mass hysteria as in proclamations of the apocalypse, of an alien invasion, and the like. Germany saw an upswing in painkiller purchases and in homicide-suicides. A mom killed herself, her husband, the cats, and her seven kids. Now where’s Prime?”

“I’m sorry Agent Fowler, but Optimus is currently in a weakened state, and unable to-”

“Unable to what?”

Everyone turned towards the corridor to Fowler’s right and everyone else’s left. A familiar figure was standing in the opening, having snuck up on them like they had no idea an enormous robot could. Then again, they were all concentrated on one thing, and were oblivious to whatever was going on around them. Arcee, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee quickly backed up to make way for their Prime as he slowly walked over to Ratchet and to Agent Fowler.

The gaze that the Prime and the medic exchanged was so full of tension that even the government agent got a nasty chill up his spine. He ignored it however, and got to the point quickly, “Prime, sightings of the Decepticon ship sent the German civilians into a frenzy. You were aboard it. Was it the real thing?”

“Agent Fowler, I do not know anything of the path that the _Nemesis_ took whilst I was aboard. What I am certain, however, is that I managed to escape while it was trekking the skies over the Black Forest in Germany.”

“Well, that explains that part. Just…well, Prime, at least you’re back with your ‘bots, but thanks to today’s technology and the fact that most of this world cannot keep their mouths shut, pictures of the Decepticon ship are circulating on Facebook, Twitter, and every social site imaginable. It’s even on the front page of the BBC and CNN websites. Hence, my visit.”

“I’m very sorry Agent Fowler…but I believe I am safe in assuming that since I disembarked the Decepticon warship in the Black Forest that the citizens of Germany did in fact see their warship.”

The government agent crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “And I guess I’m safe in guessing that you ‘bots don’t know any more than we all do. And…”

“Yes, Agent Fowler?” Optimus prodded after the human had stayed silent for quite a few moments.

“I’m just hoping I don’t get fired from my position for not having any intel. My higher-ups can be pretty unforgiving, and they won’t be happy having our computer techs scour the internet and delete all the photos they can, and try to come up with some explanation for all the hysteria…Prime, what’s that in your arms?”

Then everyone else suddenly noticed that their Prime had his arms crossed over his chassis…but not quite fully. One arm, the left one, swept under, with his hand curled in towards him, and the other arm laying over the left but not meeting his windows. Fowler almost shrieked when he heard a soft whine come from somewhere around the Prime’s chassis, followed by the appearance of a tiny deep blue arm with an almost-black servo attached to it on Optimus’s windows.

“That,” Optimus said, gently rearranging his arms so a tiny form was revealed from its hiding place, “would be the newest addition to the Autobots, Agent Fowler.”

Fowler quickly turned to the large green mech with wide eyes. “I thought you all were playing some sort of prank on me!”

“We would never prank anyone about a sparkling, fleshie. You’re currently looking at the first sparkling that’s been born in a few million stellar cycles. They’re nothing to joke about.”

Bulkhead’s words did nothing to wipe the astonished look off of William Fowler’s face. Nor did it prevent the horrified expression that took the place of astonishment as Optimus gently rocked a fussing little Cybertronian…sparkling, Fowler corrected himself. To soothe it, he guessed. Was it…what was it, specifically?

“Am I stepping over my boundaries when I ask exactly what…is…is it a boy or a girl? Sorry if the terms confuse you, but that’s what we call the two genders here on Earth so I’m not-”

“That is fine, Agent Fowler,” Optimus gently cut in as he rocked the sparkling and quickly cooed (or whatever it was they called that soft musical tone he took on) at he, she, it. “Our species does have two genders, called mech and femme. Mechs possess features that your species would normally consider masculine, while femmes possess features that are considered feminine in your culture. Both frame types are capable of bringing forth new life. This little one here,” he gestured to the now-still and sleeping (at least that’s what he thought it was doing), “is a femme, the equivalent of a human female.”

“Ah. So…it’s a girl. Congratulations, Prime. Pretty sure you’ll make a good…mom, dad, whatever you want to call yourself.”

“Carrier, Agent Fowler.”

“Did you give her a name already or…?”

“Andromeda.”

At the sound of her name Andromeda’s optics opened, and Fowler gave a half-grin at the sight of her blue eyes. The sparkling blinked them furiously and yawned, stretching her tiny arms in front of her and making something akin to musical notes from her voice box (what Fowler guessed it was called).

“Andromeda…hey, Andromeda.”

Her head was flat on Optimus’s arm, but she turned it to her left to look at the strange and funny-looking creature that had just called her name. He was tiny, and definitely something she had not seen before. She blinked her optics again before letting out a small coo.

“Would you like to get close to her, Agent Fowler?” Optimus asked, all attention on his child and completely unaware of the other four Cybertronians in the room with him. He leaned down and gently nuzzled her forehelm crest, similar to his in design but smaller, with his lipplates.

“No, no Prime, it’s fine. I gotta go back and get yelled at by my superiors. And congrats again.”

.-.-.

Nothing much changed around the base over the next few days. The only thing was that Fowler had called and requested that they shorten their routes as to not be seen by the civilians so often, for which the Autobots were grateful for, as they could now spend most of their time in the silo.

It was odd to Bumblebee, however, the second night when he woke up for a midnight ration of energon and found Optimus walking around the main room and up and down the corridor with a fussing Andromeda in his arms, singing sweet and harmonic lullabies to quell her fears. The Prime didn’t even seem to notice him, his everything all about the little femme. His entire world focused on his daughter.

Jack, Miko, and Raf were thrilled with Andromeda, and their Autobot guardians were no exception.

“Andromeda!”

The femme chirred and turned her helm around to look at the big green mech, cocking her helm curiously to the side as she looked at his waggling digits and at the waving creature next to him. “Come to Uncle Bulkhead.”

“Come to me, your sister Miko!”

“No.” Two thin and blue legs walked over and Arcee heaved Andromeda into her arms, cooing at her and saying, “She likes her Aunty Arcee better, don’t you?”

Bumblebee felt left out and got to his pedes, about to go over and take the femmeling into his arms when Optimus walked into the main room. The Prime looked around at all the three humans and their guardians playing with his daughter. He looked at Andromeda in Arcee’s arms, and smiled at her. The femmeling cooed and raised her arms towards her carrier, squealing happily when Optimus took her in his embrace and kissed her cheekplate and blew what the humans called raspberries on it.

“You know, you’re a better mom than some mothers I’ve seen,” Raf commented as he looked up from his laptop, where he had been showing Jack a video.

“Thank you, Rafael.” Andromeda chirped and buried her face in the crook of her carrier’s neck, yawning. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I need to put Andromeda down for a nap.”

“Aww!” Miko groaned in dissatisfaction, jumping to her feet and sticking her lower lip out in a pout, putting her fists to her hips. “I didn’t even get to play some Slash Monkey songs for her to hear! I want her to learn about Earth music too!”

“Somehow, I don’t think she will gain any appreciation for it at this stage, Miko. You may just end up shorting out and damaging her audio receptors,” Optimus gently chastised the girl, smiling at her before he turned and walked down the hallway towards his quarters.

He didn’t pay any attention to the familiar bulky frame that followed him. And when he closed the doors to his quarters he missed the sigh of conflict that Ratchet emitted. The medic placed a servo on his forehelm and pinched his nasalplate, asking Primus for strength and courage, before he typed in the passcode to Optimus’s quarters. When the doors slid apart to reveal a startled Prime and his sleeping little one, the medic sighed once more and said, “Optimus, we need to talk.”


	15. Lullaby

Optimus’s anger clearly made its way through the creator/creation bond, because as soon as Ratchet had finished that sentence Andromeda’s optics popped open and she began to cry. The Prime looked down at the femmeling, cast the medic another look, and turned his back to the ambulance, bouncing Andromeda up and down in his arms and murmuring soothing words to her as he gently lowered her into her crib. She tried to grasp onto the Prime’s armor, but Optimus quickly covered her frame with a starry blanket and began singing to her in a language that was completely unfamiliar to the medic.

But that did not mean that he found it ugly to hear. On the contrary, Ratchet thought it was among one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard in his life cycle. He never imagined that Optimus could sing such a wonderful song, whatever it was. And whatever it said, it did the trick. Andromeda’s cries ceased, and she stared up at her mother-creator with wide, yet sleepy optics full of trust and a love that only a child could have for its bearer, a love that Optimus’s optics reciprocated. A love only a bearer, a true bearer, could have for their offspring.

It seemed a long minute later that the sparkling’s optics began to droop, and she yawned as her drowsiness began to take hold of her. Optimus didn’t stop his singing, though, continuing to lull the little one to sleep. Finally, her optics shut and her helm titled to the side as her systems began powering down for recharge. The Prime stood over the little berth for a short while, making sure Andromeda was fast asleep, before he trailed off and looked up at Ratchet.

“What was that?” were the first words out of the ambulance’s mouth before he even knew what he was saying.

The Prime kept his expression neutral as he gently cupped his daughter’s helm and wiped away a stray bead of optic fluid from her silver faceplates. “An ancient Cybertronian lullaby. It was composed eons ago, legend tells, by a Carrier determined to explain to the Sire of the child how holding the one you have birthed after an agonizing hell felt. Of the many ballads and lullabies composed, this is the one that the Carrier felt came close to it.”

Andromeda stirred in her recharge, and Optimus Prime stiffened slightly, turning his helm to look at the sparkling crib. The femme didn’t wake, and only shifted to lie on her side. Optimus then walked out of his main quarters and into the smaller waiting area, where there was dim light, and sat on the floor up against a wall.

Ratchet sat against the wall opposite from the Prime as he finished. Both were quiet, lost in thought for a few minutes after Optimus finished his sentence. The silence was thick, tense, and uncomfortable as Optimus only looked back at the crib, keeping his optics on the sleeping sparkling and completely avoiding the medic’s gaze. Ratchet impatiently tapped his digits on his knees and searched his processor for the correct words to say.

“Optimus…”

The Prime didn’t move, but the medic saw that the Autobot Commander’s optics flicked quickly in his direction and back towards the recharging infant.

“Optimus, can you ever forgive me?”

Short and directly to the point. The medic waited to see if the Prime would answer him, do anything, say anything. All he saw Optimus do was watch the little femme, his audios and optics focused on the crib and ready to bolt to his daughter’s aid should she begin to fuss and cry. He wanted to see if the Prime would actually acknowledge him.

"Optimus? Optimus, are you listening to me?"

“Ratchet,” this time the Autobot Commander turned and met the ambulance’s optics. “How do you think Andromeda came into this universe? How do you think I birthed her?”

The medic snorted. “Knockout inducing labor on you, you screaming your vocals out as Megatron watched, laughing. Him being the sadist he is.”

“No. I was alone." Optimus looked down at the floor of his quarters, jaw set hard and optics dimmed. "Megatron had me tossed into a filthy cell. Instead of birthing her in a warm place where everyone was there to welcome her with open arms, she came to life on a cold and dirty floor on the Decepticon ship. Instead of being born to two creators that have promised themselves to each other and to love and cherish their sparkling, he tried to take her from me. He wanted to raise her, our daughter… _my_ daughter, as his own.”

“Wait,  _Megatron_?” the medic blinked his optics at the Prime. “ _Megatron_  is her Sire?”

Optimus offered the ambulance an expressionless glance. He closed his optics, sighed, and reopened them. “Yes. Megatron and I created her. And it would do you no good to get mad at me now, Ratchet. As you pointed out a few times I was not in my right state of mind. And she is already here with us.”

“I… I just don’t see ANYTHING resembling that depraved warlord in her. She’s almost the exact spitting image of you, Optimus.”

Before he’d finished that sentence a soft cry emanated from the Prime’s room. In a quick flash Optimus was on his pedes and lifting little Andromeda from her berth, warbling and cooing at her as he gently rubbed the side of her mouth. She turned towards his digit and tried to latch on, whining when no energon was present. Ratchet merely stood and walked over to watch as the Prime separated his chassis plates and disconnected one of the feeding lines, rubbing the soft end of it over the femmeling’s lipplates, and smiling when Andromeda quickly latched on.

After a few moments quiet that was broken only by the sounds of the little femme feeding, Optimus replied softly, “And for that I am most grateful, in that she does not resemble her Sire."

"She resembles you so much. Optimus?"

The Prime didn’t give any indication that he had paid attention to Ratchet, his optics only on his child as she kept feeding. When Andromeda was done the feeding line fell from her lipplates and she gurgled, a small amount of sparkling energon leaking out of her oral cavity. After Optimus reconnected the tube and closed his chassis plates he wiped away the fluids staining her chin and lipplates. “I have done all of this virtually on my own, Ratchet. I was the only one to greet her upon her birth. I fought my way past Megatron and the rest of his army to bring her to safety.”

“Optimus, you collapsed when Bulkhead and Bumblebee and I reached you.”

He thinned his own lipplates and bounced Andromeda, who was beginning to squirm again, up and down in his arms. Optimus put up a barrier in their creator/creation bond before he continued, “I would have been able to keep going, Ratchet, if I did not let my guard down. My instincts, my primal instincts are now to protect her, and only her. It took looking at her, only seconds after her emergence, when I backed myself up into a wall and managed to get her to inhale and exhale all the fluids she had stuck in her systems, to realize that I do not need a co-creator, even an adoptive one, to help me.”

“Optimus,” Ratchet whispered harshly as he reached forth and placed his servo on the Autobot leader’s forearm. A bit too roughly and quickly, apparently, as the Prime backed away from the medic and only held Andromeda closer to him. Andromeda cooed and batted at her carrier’s windowpanes, warbling and chirping softly. “I know that I have said this before, but I’m imploring for you to forgive me. I was… I spoke out of my aftpipe. I would never,  _never_ have taken this little one away from you all of my own volition. Optimus, I was upset. I was so very upset.”

The Prime gently lowered Andromeda back into her crib and thumbed her forehelm crest as the medic continued talking, “I had been holding it in for so long, practically since the moment I discovered that you were sparked, and I agree that I was wrong in letting my emotions loose the way I did. I would give anything to take that back, Optimus.” Ratchet turned his back to the Prime and to the infant, looking down at his pedes in shame. “I regret what I said, and I will regret it until the day that my spark gives out. I would give anything for me to not lose my temper, if only to ensure that had that not happened you would have had the chance to welcome her here, where you had access to care, and not on the floor of the  _Nemesis_. I’m sorry, Optimus. I’m so, so sorry.”

Andromeda warbled and chirped and kicked her legs, reaching her arms up for her carrier and wrapping them around his arm when Optimus lowered his right arm towards her. The Prime smiled at her, which she returned in kind, and quietly warbled and cooed back at her, the sounds musical and beautiful to the medic’s audios.

“I believe you were hurt and had every right to rant, Ratchet,” the Prime’s voice echoed in the quarters. Ratchet turned around and met the Autobot Commander’s gaze. “Though I will say that I do wish that you would have complained to me first. It should have made no difference that I was carrying. I was still in command of this group of Autobots, was I not?”

The medic gave a sheepish nod.

“But just because I understand your motives behind your words, and believe that you meant no ill, does not mean that I have currently found it in my spark to forgive you.”

“Optimus…” Ratchet’s voice was soft and desperate; he wanted to repeat what he had said only days ago.  _Is it really that easy to throw all our history together away, Optimus?_ But he knew it would do no good, so he only silenced himself as the Prime continued, “And, I do not think that you should be asking for my forgiveness, Ratchet. After all, my life is not the one you said you would terminate.”

As if to speak for her carrier, Andromeda gave a sharp chirp.

“I… I… but Optimus, I-”

“It was not easy to forget, to throw away my history with Megatron, Ratchet. It took many stellar cycles. But I managed. And I will manage with this as well.”

A one-sided uncomfortable silence fell again. Ratchet, keeping his ventilations deep and even, could now see that his efforts would be futile. Optimus had truly made up his processor. And once Optimus made up his processor, it would difficult, nearly impossible, to convince him otherwise. The medic turned on his heel strut and headed for the exit of the quarters, but not before he stopped and quietly said, “Optimus.”

The semi, who had picked the fussing femmeling up from her crib and was gently rocking her, looked up at the ambulance.

“Optimus…” Ratchet bit his lower lipplate and turned back around as he whispered, “I always loved you.”

And with a whoosh of the doors the medic was gone.

The Prime kept his optics on the doors for a few more moments, lipplates set in a straight line before Andromeda commanded his attention again. He turned and blew raspberries into her cheekplate, smiled at her squeals of laughter, telling the sparklet in a low tone, “Your Sire told me the very same thing once, millions of stellar cycles and a lifetime ago. Now, I can say I'm certain you’re the only one I will ever love, my little one.”

Andromeda only cooed and raised an arm to touch her carrier’s faceplate, her optics beginning to droop with sleepiness as her carrier lay her back down in her berth and began to sing to her of a love that only carriers and creations shared.


	16. Stars

The cries hit his audios, and the Prime opened his optics slowly to the darkness of his quarters, allowing them a moment to register and see in the black. He rolled from his side onto his back strut, placing his servos on his forehelm and sighing before he got up and walked over to the other end of the room, turning the lights on their dimmest setting.

Andromeda’s blue optics were scrunched shut and her mouth was open as her vocalizer let out mournful and soft wails and her little arms stretched outwards seeking the comfort of her carrier. Optimus slowly, tenderly lifted the little femme from her crib, wrapping her in her blanket and shushed her, whispering, “I know sweetspark, I know, I know. Don’t cry, little one. I’m here. I’m here.”

He already knew by the loudness and rhythm of her cry exactly what she wanted. He disconnected a feeding line and rubbed it over the femmeling’s lipplates, wincing as she took the tube in her mouth rather quickly and roughly and began to feed at a fast pace. “No, little one, not so fast,” he gently chastised her, sighing again when she popped the line from her oral cavity because she began hiccupping. Tears streaked down her faceplates as she began to cry again, frustrated at the spasms in her chassis and throat that hurt.

Optimus sat on his berth and unwrapped the starry blanket from Andromeda’s frame and laid her over his legs, steadying her helm with one servo as he rubbed her back strut with his other one. Two hiccups later Andromeda let out a very undignified burp and sniffled at the slight burn in her throat. When Optimus offered her the line again she scrunched up her optics and turned her face away.

After he reconnected the feeding tube the Prime knew that it would take a while for Andromeda to go to sleep again. He positioned her comfortably in the crook of his arms, placing her blanket in his subspace, and stood up, walking out of his quarters and remembering to turn the light completely off. He may as well try to wake himself up as well by going for a much-desired and needed walk. Then an idea formed in his mind.

Andromeda had never seen the stars.

Starlight hit his optics when he stepped out onto the top of the rock formation that housed the old missile silo. The moon was full and shone a beacon of light onto the Earth, bouncing off his armor. He raised his helm to look at the dark sky dotted with stars and smiled when he felt Andromeda squirming in his arm. The femme blinked her wide eyes to focus them in this new place, and cooed softly as she looked at her surroundings. She looked at the dark sky above and reached her hands for the brightest stars, chirring and chirping.

Optimus Prime couldn’t help the smile that crossed his faceplates as he looked at his little femme marvel at the wonders of the sky, reaching out for the tiny suns so far away. 

_Warble?_ Andromeda looked up at him with large optics full of curiosity.

The stars pulsed brilliantly above, directing Andromeda’s attention back to them. Her bright blue orbs took in the light from so far off. Her wing stubs flicked up and down a few times as she tried to catch stars in her hands. She would bring her servos down and open them to see if she caught a bright, shiny dot, and when she saw that she hadn’t she would try again and again.

Optimus pretended to catch a meteorite that streaked across the sky, and quickly reached down to grab a small shining stone that was next to him, and held his cupped palm in front of Andromeda’s optics. She stared at the stone intently before reaching her chubby servos to hold the smooth rock, turning it in her hands and inspecting it.

The Prime had been hesitant to the thought of becoming a creator. If Primus ever did bless him with a little one, he thought it would have been after the war was done and over with.

So long ago in the twilight hours of the Golden Age he thought that when he and Megatronus had succeeded in overthrowing the caste system that maybe, just maybe, the gladiator would be open to a sparkling. All that changed with his hissy fit in the High Council Chambers when he ended Halogen’s life and severed all ties with him.

And it changed, again, over time in his relationship with Ratchet.

Thinking of the Autobot medic sent a pang of loss and pain through the Autobot Commander’s spark as he looked down at Andromeda play with the shiny stone, enamored with the way it caught the starlight. Ratchet would have been the greatest Sire in the history of Cybertron, had Andromeda been of his own code. He wouldn’t have been avoiding Optimus and Andromeda as much as he had been these past weeks, holing himself up in his medbay and averting his gaze from the two. Optimus was glad that Andromeda only needed a checkup twice a month, where he and the medic were forced to interact coldly. Ratchet would have adored her, had she been conceived of both him and Optimus. He would be wrapped around her little digit, done anything and everything for her and that she wanted

But then she wouldn’t have been Andromeda. She’d be someone else. Some other sparkling that Optimus wasn’t sure he would love the same as this little one chirping happily, easily entertained by such a small object.

Being a single creator was the best thing to happen to him, the Prime told himself. It wasn’t easy. It was tiring, and trying, and there were times he felt like it was too much, but it only took a look into the wide, trusting, and unconditionally loving optics of his little femme to keep him going. She was worth everything.

Maybe someday he would be able to forgive Ratchet for what he said.

Maybe someday Megatron would see the light and stop this Pit-forsaken war.

Maybe someday, he told himself, all the while knowing that those days would come far into the future, if ever.

Andromeda chirped as she tossed the stone between her servos. She missed a few times, but always managed to grab it from where it fell to the ground and start over again. Optimus grinned at her and leaned down, kissing her on her cheekplate and murmuring, “Let’s get you back inside little one. I don’t want you to become ill.”

The little femme curled into herself, clutching the stone in a servo. Her bright blue optics shuttered closed as a fitful recharge overcame her.

Optimus looked at his daughter, his little Andromeda, and felt his spark soar. He was plenty ready for a good sleep cycle as well.


End file.
